X 


aitij   Frariklm's   a.fp  ••  ' 

arid  Srnovec    Street*. 


BQSTOi'-    O  A.V  ' 

* 


THE    PENNIMANS; 


OB, 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS. 


"  Now,  hoist  the  sail,  and  let  the  streamers  float 
Upon  the  wanton  breezes.    Strew  the  deck 
With  lavender,  and  sprinkle  liquid  sweet, 
That  no  rude  savor  maritime  invade 
The  nose  of  nice  nobility  !     Breathe  soft 
Ye  clarionets,  and  softer  still  ye  flutes  ; 
That  winds  and  waters  lulled  by  magic  sounds 
May  bear  us  smoothly  to  the  Gallic  shore  ! " 

COWPKB. 


BOSTON: 
GARDNER  A.   FULLER, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1862,  l>y 

GABDNEB    A.    FULLER, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


DEDICATION. 


To  those  who  can  appreciate  the  sentiment  of  a  true  love,  —  of  a 
noble  womanhood  and  manhood  ;  who  condemn  those  vulgar  notions 
which  are  entertainedvby  fashion  in  regard  to  what  constitutes  respect- 
ability ;  who  can  understand  how  a  true  woman  may,  from  a  sense 
of  duty,  mingle  with  crime  without  becoming  criminal,  and  through 
her  nobility  of  nature  rescue  from  total  depravity  the  erring  of  her 
sex,  —  to  these  right-minded  and  humane  persona  we  dedicate  this 
humble  effort  of  our  pen,  trusting  that  it  may  be  received  in  the  same 
spirit  in  which  it  was  conceived. 


2063471 


THE   PENNIMANS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  From  no  affliction  is  the  poor  exempt ; 
He  thinks. feach  eve  surveys  him  with  contempt ; 
Unmanly  poverty  subdues  the  heart, 
Cankers  each  wound,  and  sharpens  every  dart." 

IT  was  Autumn.  The  leaves  were  strewn  over  the 
Common.  Those  noble  trees,  which  in  summer  time 
cast  such  a  grateful  shade,  were  nearly  bare  of  their 
sapless  foliage.  October  is  a  funereal  month  ;  it  speaks 
so  earnestly  of  death ;  it  points  to  the  dried-up  leaf 
blown  here  and  there  and  everywhere  by  the  exulting 
breeze,  and  whispers  to  our  ears  the  sad  and  sober  les- 
son of  nature's  annual  decay.  Yet  October  is  ever  wel- 
comed by  those  who  love  an  honest,  faithful  teacher, 
and  a  friend  that  will  not  flatter.  If  it  saddens,  this  is 
well ;  for  sadness  cometh  as  a  joy  to  the  heart  that  is 
not  satisfied  with  what  this  life  can  offer  for  its  love. 
And  who  of  all  created  mind — after  youth's  novelties  are 
past,  and  the  truth  is  realized  of  what  we  are  and  may 
become  through  the  elements  of  sin,  unfolded  by  cir- 
cumstance —  will  cry  content,  and  claim  that  they  are 
happy  ?  Let  us  pass  from  the  Common  into  a  fine,  well- 
swept  avenue,  which  is  lined  with  some  of  the  most 
costly  and  tastefully-constructed  edifices  in  the  city. 
Wealth  has  centered  here  ;  there  is  an  air  of  superiority 
in  the  locality  striking  to  all  beholders ;  envy  is  chal- 
lenged, and  what,  oh,  what  would  not  the  multitude 
give  who  pass  and  re-pass  the  streets  which  surround 


6  THE   PENNIMAN3  J    OB, 

our  beautiful  Common,  to  live  within  its  view,  —  to  be 
of  the  aristocracy !  They  would  be  so  happy  then. 
They  toil  hard  for  a  bare  support ;  how  much  harder 
would  they  work  if  their  labors  would  only  insure  them 
an  elegant  residence  upon  these  aristocratic  grounds. 
Having  .acquired  such  a  position,  they  would  be  so,  se 
happy.  Indeed  1  Look  yonder,  where  lies,  at  the  foot 
of  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  a  poor  old  man,  who  has  just 
been  kicked  from  the  door  by  the  irritable  proprietor,  a 
person  in  years,  with  the  coloring  matter  of  his  hair 
quite  gone.1  He  had  been  asked  for  alms.  The  poor 
old  beggar  had  sought  bread,  and  received  a  stone. 
He  might  or  he  might  not  have  deserved  assistance ; 
his  feeble  step,  however,  should  have  shielded  him  from 
a  blow.  Think  you  that  retired  merchant,  with  all  his 
dollars,  with  all  his  aristocratic  style,  was  happy? 
We  think  not ;  we  think  were  he  a  happy  man  there 
would  have  been  something  better  at  his  door  than  a 
kick  for  old  age,  —  something  more  worthy  a  prominent 
citizen  in  a  prominent  place.  No,  he  was  not  happy. 
He  was  proud,  disdainful ;  he  had  grown  old  in  admin- 
istering to  the  passions  of  a  mind  which  had  never  been 
softened  by  any  actual  faith  in  Christianity.  It  is  true 
he  was  a  patron  of  the  ministry  ;  he  paid  a  certain  sum 
for  its  support ;  but  his  affections  were  upon  the  things 
of  this  world,  and  not  upon  the  glories  of  the  next. 
There  are  many  men  who  are  pleased  with  the  formality 
of  public  worship.  The  Sabbath  is  a  day  on  which  they 
cannot  move  in  the  business  of  the  counting-house  ;  so 
they  resort  to  the  house  of  prayer.  The  pew  is  a  matter 
of  custom  with  them,  and  having  the  pulpit  supplied 
with  a  good-natured  and  mayhap  eloquent  divine,  it  is 
pleasant  to  hear  in  terms  of  classic  beauty  the  Scrip- 
tural plan  of  salvation  propounded,  and  the  many  noble 
texts  of  the  Bible  discoursed  of,  though  it  may  be  re- 
garded all  the  while  as  an  ingenious  fable,  by  an  attent- 
ive and  prayer-bending  congregation  This  is  pleasant ; 
it  kills  time,  it  'consumes  a  day  which  otherwise  would 
pass  heavily ;  and  above  all  it  gains  one  the  reputation 
of  godliness.  Our  man  of  wealth  loves  reputation,  and 
doubtless  he  would  give  handsome  sums  for  notorious 


1HK   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  7 

objects,  that  his  name  might  wake  a  deep  respect  among 
those  with  whom  it  was  his  ambition  to  associate  ;  that 
his  person  might  command  the  deference  of  the  edu- 
cated as  well  as  the  vulgar.  But  he  was  not,  he  could 
not  be  happy,  and  of  the  two,  the  beggar  and  Dives,  we 
are  of  the  opinion  that  the  poverty  of  the  one,  with  its 
kicks  even,  was  a  greater  blessing  than  the  riches  of 
the  other,  with  all  the  consequence  that  style  and  large 
bank  accounts  could  insure.  It  is  not  essential  that  a 
man  should  be  rich,  but  it  is  essential  that  he  should 
have  a  clear  conscience,  and  be  in  fellowship  with  Deity 
through  its  personification  in  the  flesh  by  Jesus  Christ, 
who  on  Calvary  looked  down,  through  sweet  blood  and 
tears,  at  men  by  whom  an  ignominious  death  was  deemed 
a  fit  award  for  the  guilt  of  love.  Pope  Adrian  IV  says, 
in  his  Philosophical  Trifles,  "  I  know  no  person  more 
unhappy  than  the  sovereign  pontiff.  Labor  alone, 
were  that  his  only  evil,  would  destroy  him  in  a  short 
time.  His  seat  is  full  of  thorns,  his  robes  stuck  with 
points,  and  of  an  overwhelming  weight.  His  crown  and 
tiara  shine,  but  it  is  with  a  fire  that  will  consume  him. 
I  have  risen  by  degrees,"  adds  he,  "  from  the  lowest  to 
the  highest  dignity  in  this  world,  and  have  never  found 
that  any  of  these  elevations  made  the  least  addition  to 
my  happiness.  On  the  contrary,  I  feel  it  impossible  to 
bear  the  load  with  which  I  am  charged."  Petrarch,  in 
writing  to  a  friend,  says,  "  I  now  experience  the  truth  of 
what  was  told  me,  that  to  learn  to  live  well  is  the  most 
difficult  of  all  arts.  I  would  not  exchange  my  repose 
for  your  labors  and  cares,  my  poverty  for  your  riches. 
It  is  not  that  I  despise  your  fortune  ;  but  if  I  were  offered 
the  same  rank,  nothing  would  persuade  me  to  accept 
it."  Happiness,  then,  is  not  glory,  if  these  two  great 
men  are  any  authority,  whose  names  are  as  imperishable 
as  the  human  mind.  A  fashionable  street,  from  whose 
superb  residences  aged  beggars  may  be  kicked  with 
impunity,  is  in  point  of  fact  no  more  respectable  than 
localities  where,  if  the  poor  receive  not  alms,  there  is 
too  honorable  a  sentiment  to  permit  of  abuse  ;  and  those 
who  perchance  may  envy  the  rich  and  gaudy  aristocrat 
should  remember,  happiness  is  not  glory,  but  to  be  truly 


THE    PENNIMANS  }     OR, 

happy  is  to  be  really  humble.  "  If  the  situation  of 
man  "  says  a  sweet  poet, 

"  Whose  own  genius  gave  the  fatal  blow, 
And  help'd  to  plant  the  wound  that  laid  it  low,  — 

if  man's  situation  in  the  present  life  be  considered  in  all 
its  relations  and  dependencies,  a  striking  inconsistency 
will  be  apparent  to  a  very  cursory  observer.  We  have 
sure  warrant  for  believing  that  our  abode  here  is  to 
form  a  comparatively  insignificant  part  of  our  existence, 
and  that  on  our  conduct  in  this  life  will  depend  the  hap- 
piness in  the  life  to  come  ;  yet  our  actions  daily  con- 
tradict the  proposition,  in  as  much  as  we  commonly  act 
like  men  who  have  no  thought  but  for  the  present  scene, 
and  to  whom  the  grave  is  the  boundary  of  anticipation." 

But  to  return  to  the  poor  old  beggar,  whom  we  left  at 
the  bottom  of  a  flight  of  steps,  from  the  door  of  which 
he  had  been  heartlessly  kicked  by  a  purse-proud,  unman- 
nerly fellow.  He  did  not  weep,  that  poor  old  beggar,  for 
the  experience  of  time  had  taught  him  that  tears  were 
of  no  avail.  There  was  a  low  muttering,  and  that  was 
all,  as  he  walked  feebly  away. 

An  urchin  was  near  by,  whose  appearance  indicated  a 
good  deal  of  character.  He  had  a  firm  step  and  a  bright 
eye.  He  saw  the  inhumanity  of  wealth  practised  on 
helpless  poverty.  "Did  he  hurt  you,  sir,  that  bad 
man,"  said  he,  walking  up  to  the  beggar,  with  a  marked 
anxiety  in  his  countenance. 

"  No,  good  little  boy,"  replied  the  old  man,  a  tear 
coursing  down  his  shriveled,  bloodless  cheeks ;  "  him- 
self he  injured  more." 

"  0,  yes,  he  did  so,"  returned  the  boy ;  "  God  will 
punish  him  for  all  he  did  to  you.  I  am  so  sorry,  sir, 
you  should  be  obliged  to  beg  ;  so  old,  so  poor." 

"  Good  boy,  sweet  boy,"  replied  the  beggar,  unable 
to  restrain  the  emotions  of  his  heart ;  and  taking  the 
little  fellow  by  the  hand,  he  requested  that  he  would 
walk  with  him. 

They  had  proceeded  only  a  short  distance  when  they 
were  met  by  a  little  girl,  driving  a  press-hoop,  who,  per- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  9 

ceiving  an  acquaintance  in  the  urchin,  stopped,  and  asked 
him,  with  a  tender  and  somewhat  embarrassed  accent 
and  manner,  where  he  was  going. 

"  This  poor  old  man  has  been  abused  for  asking  char- 
ity/' replied  the  boy,  indignantly  ;  "I  wish  I  could  help 
him." 

"  Good  boy,  blessed  boy,"  muttered  the  beggar,  in 
tones  almost  inaudible. 

"  I  have  some  cents  in  my  pocket,  mother  gave  me  to 
buy  cake,"  said  the  little  girl,  "  but  you,  good  sir,  shall 
have  them,  if  you  are  poor."  Then,  swinging  her  hoop 
from  her  right  hand  to  the  left,  she  put  her  clean,  deli- 
cate fingers  into  her  pocket,  and  drew  forth  some  cop- 
pers. "  There,  sir,  take  them  ;  they  are  yours." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  beggar,  overcome 
by  the  girl's  generosity;  "please  yourself  with  the 
money  ;  buy  cake,  buy  cake,  as  your  mother  told  you." 

"  We  are  rich,  sir,"  returned  the  girl.  "  I  can  get 
plenty  more  cents.  Do,  do  take  them,  it  will  make  me 
happy." 

"  Yes,  take  them,  sir,"  spoke  the  boy.   "  Her  father  is 

real  rich.     He  lives  in  Square,  sir,  where  the 

wealthiest  people  live.  Do  take  the  money,  poor  old 
man." 

The  eyes  of  the  beggar,  which  till  now  had  remained 
dull  and  passionless,  began  to  brighten  ;  and  as  the  little 
girl  pulled  open  his  pocket,  and  dropped  into  it  the 
coppers,  they  warmed  with  his  better  nature.  He  drew 
the  children  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them  fervently  ;  then 
passed  on,  muttering  a  benediction  on  their  heads. 

"  0,  do  not  go  sir,  without  us,"  said  the  children. 

The  old  man  halted.  His  face,  which  hard  fortune 
had  begrimmed  with  sorrow  and  stamped  with  despair, 
relaxed  its  wonted  gloom,  and  the  tint  of  joy  was  there. 

"  I  want,  sir,  to  know  where  your  home  is,"  said  the 
boy,  "so  that  I  can  go  and  see  you  when  you  are  in  want. 
My  father  is  not  a  wealthy  man,  like  this  little  girl's,  but 
he  is  always  good  to  the  poor,  and  says  I  must  be  good 
to  them  too." 

"  Come,  then,  my  dear  little  fellow,"  rejoined  the  beg- 
gar ;  "  and  may  God  Almighty  bless  your  blood." 
1* 


1 0  THE    PEXNIMAN'S  ',     OR, 

The  children  and  the  old  man  walked  off  together. 
They  had  not  gone  far,  when  they  were  approached  by 
an  individual  with  a  shuffling  gait,  a  slight  stoop,  gray 
hair,  and  a  countenance  as  hard  as  was  his  petrified  con- 
science. He  had  grown  rich,  as  most  wealthy  men  do, 
by  grinding  the  face  of  the  poor,  and  running  hard  bar- 
gains with  all  those  who  happen  to  have  any  dealings 
with  them.  His  manners  were  affable,  but  his  soul  was 
the  concentration  of  meanness  and  pride.  He  could 
keep  his  carriage,  but  could  not  keep  a  clerk  to  collect 
his  rents,  and  attend  to  the  details  of  his  affairs.  His 
property  was  large,  and  the  collection  of  his  rents  a  busi- 
ness in  itself.  But  doubtless  he  was  himself  a  knave, 
and  suspected  knavery  in  all  about  him.  This,  reader, 
was  the  tender  doting  father  of  the  good  little  girl  who  had 
given  all  her  coppers  in  behalf  of  a  distressed  old  man. 

His  eye  no  sooner  detected  his  daughter  in  company 
with  a  beggar,  and  a  boy  whose  appearance,  though  re- 
spectable, was  not  altogether  satisfactory  to  the  mind 
of  Dives,  than  he  seized  her  nervously  by  the  hand,  and 
hurried  her  from  their  company.  "  Never  let  me  see 
you  with  a  beggar  or  a  vulgar  boy  again,"  sternly  coun- 
seled our  man  of  wealth.  "  Go  home  to  your  mother,  at 
once." 

"  0,  father,  the  old  man  is  very  poor  and  feeble.  Give 
him  a  little  change,  won't  you,  father  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  returned  this  good  Samaritan ;  "  go  home  I 
I  forbid  your  ever  again  being  seen  with  a  beggar. 
What  boy  was  that  ?  " 

"  Little  Billy  Andrews,  father." 

"  Andrews,  Andrews,"  returned  the  old  rascal,  some- 
what disturbed.  "  What,  his  father  must  be  Andrews 
the  musician  1 " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  "  his  father  is  a  musician,  and 
Billy  wants  me  to  go  to  his  house  to  hear  the  rehears- 
als." 

"Don't  you  dare  to  go  among  such  vulgar  people," 
harshly  replied  the  father.  "  If  I  ever  find  you  in  that 
company  again,  I  '11  punish  you  severely.  Now,  mind 
me.  How  many  times  I  have  cautioned  you  about  street 
acquaintances." 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF  J3ENIUS.  11 

"Billy  is  a  good  boy,"  sobbed  the  girl.  "I  wish  I 
were  as  good." 

"  Hush  crying,"  rejoined  the  father.  "  Run  right  home 
to  your  mother.  Beggars  and  musicians'  boys,  indeed  ! 
I  '11  have  you  kept  in  the  house  altogether,  if  you  've  no 
more  pride  than  to  mingle  with  such  company." 

The  little  girl's  heart  seemed  broken  ;  she  sobbed  piti- 
fully, as  by  her  father's  directions  she  took  the  street 
for  home.  He,  with  his  face  flushed  with  anger,  and  his 
head  bent  down,  glided  off  to  an  opposite  point.  The 
beggar  and  the  boy,  in  the  mean  time,  had  gone  on  their 
way,  and  we  now  find  them  at  the  door  of  a  dilapidated 
wooden  dwelling  situated  on  a  street  at  the  west  end  of 
the  city,  which  runs  towards  Charles  River.  They  enter, 
and  passing  up  a  rickety  stairway,  dark  and  dirty,  with 
a  rotten,  broken  baluster,  they  are,  in  a  moment,  in  the 
beggar's  lodgings.  The  place  was  so  strange,  unnat- 
ural, so  different  from  any  the  little  boy  had  seen  before, 
that  a  sense  of  insecurity  came  over  him,  as  the  old  man 
shut  the  green,  paint-worn  door.  He  burst  into  tears,  and 
begged  that  he  might  go  ;  but  the  old  man  having  suc- 
ceeded in  quieting  his  fears,  he  was  content  to  set  him- 
self upon  a  stool,  and  listen  to  what  the  beggar  might 
have  to  say.  The  room  was  small ;  it  had  an  air  of  neat- 
ness ;  was  well  swept,  and  free  from  offensive  odor ;  but 
it  was  entirely  without  furniture,  save  a  pine  chair  and 
-..able,  together  with  a  tin  plate,  knife  and  fork,  and  a 
cot-bedstead.  On  the  mantlepiece  was  a  Bible  which 
looked  as  though  it  had  been  well  thumbed.  Against 
the  wall  was  tacked  a  print  of  the  Crucifixion,  and  the 
head  of  John  the  Baptist  delivered  in  a  charger. 

The  beggar  sat  himself  in  the  chair,  apparently  some- 
what fatigued,  and  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  child,  mut- 
tered, "  Good  boy,  good  boy  ;  God  bless  you."  Then, 
raising  his  voice,  he  inquired  the  age  and  name  of  his 
little  friend. 

"  I  am  eight  years  old,  sir,  and  my  name  is  William 
Andrews,  son  of  Richard  Andrews,  musician." 

"  God  bless  you,  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  the  tears 
streaming  from  his  eyes  ;  "you  speak  with  manly  prom- 
ise. William  Andrews,  son  of  Richard  Andrews,  musi- 


12  THE    PENNIMAN3J     OB, 

cian,  eh  ?  He  has  a  treasure  ;  yes,  yes,  a  treasure !  I 
know  your  father,  little  lad ;  he  has  bought  books  of 
me." 

"  0,  you  once  kept  a  book-store,  did  you,  sir?"  said 
Billy,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  delight  at  the  thought  that 
the  old  man  had  not  always  been  so  poor. 

"  No,  not  a  book-store  ;  I  did  not  keep  a  book-store  ; 
no ;  but  I  peddled  such  literature  as  I  could  sell  from 
door  to  door.  I  remember  one  day  I  was  being  rudely 

driven  from  the  steps  of  a  house  in  L Street,  by 

the  servant,  when  a  man  of  noble  presence,  from  within 
bade  her  desist.  He  asked  me  into  the  house,  pitied  my 
hard  fortune,  and  purchased  of  me  a  Life  of  Garrick.  I 
thought  him  a  good,  kind  man,  and  did  not  fail  to  look 
for  his  name  upon  the  door.  It  was  Richard  Andrews. 
Then,  befriended  by  the  father ;  now,  by  the  son  ;"  and 
the  old  man,  as  he  said  this,  was  deeply  moved. 

"  Don't  cry,  sir;  we  shall  always  be  good  to  you," 
rejoined  the  boy,  rising  from  the  stool,  and  passing  to 
the  side  of  the  beggar.  "  Don't  cry.  God  is  always 
careful  of  those  who  put  their  trust  in  him." 

"  So  he  is,  my  boy ;  BO  he  is,"  returned  the  old  man, 
trembling.  "  You  must  always  love  him.  Had  I  been 
blessed  with  a  good  father,  and  kind,  tender  mother,  my 
grey  hairs  would  not  require  the  protection  they  do.  I 
should  have  been  the  equal,  perhaps,  of  the  proud  man 
who  kicked  me  from  his  door." 

"  Were  your  parents  naughty  people,  poor  old  man  ?" 
earnestly  inquired  the  boy,  affectionately  resting  his 
hand  on  Throckmorton's  shoulder,  and  gazing  steadfastly 
in  his  face. 

"Yes,  dear  child,  they  were  very  naughty,"  re- 
sponded the  beggar.  "They  cast  me  unprotected  on  the 
world,  without  religion  or  knowledge.  I  grew  up  a  bad, 
reckless,  thoughtless  boy ;  and  when  I  became  a  man  I 
was  qualified  for  no  employment  of  honorable  usefulness 
whatever.  I  was  bad,  very  bad  ;  grew  to  be  criminal, 
and  was  put  in  prison.  But  God  has  been  good  to  me, 
my  child,  in  many  ways,  and  I  hope  for  pardon  and  ac- 
ceptance through  the  blessed  Jesus." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Billy,  "  God  will  surely  forgive  you, 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  13 

if  penitent ;  for  in  the  Bible  it  is  written,  '  though  your 
sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow.'  He 
will  forgive  you,  sir,  if  you  love  and  fear  him,  and  sin 
no  more." 

"Good  boy!"  exclaimed  Throckmorton ;  "Heaven 
bless  you." 

"  Tell  me,  poor  old  man,  what  most  you  need,"  said 
Billy,  "  and  I  will  tell  father  all  about  it.  He  won't  let 
you  suffer." 

"  I  want  but  little,  child.  Something  to  eat  and 
drink,"  rejoined  the  beggar,  "  and  clothes  to  keep  my 
body  warm  is  all  I  ask.  Soon  this  little  I  shall  not 
require." 

"  Won't  you  ?  "  said  Billy,  with  an  expression  of  sur- 
prise. "  How  can  you  live  without  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  old,  dear  child,"  rejoined  the  beggar, 
"  and  soon  must  die.  When  dead,  the  things  I  now  re- 
quire will  be  no  longer  necessary." 

"  I  wish  you  were  young,  like  me,"  returned  the  boy ; 
"I  am  so  happy." 

"  The  young  have  no  past,"  rejoined  the  beggar ; 
"  no  past ;  but  the  aged,  alas !  have  in  that  a  frightful 
reality ;"  and  as  he  said  this  a  deep,  long-drawn  sigh 
bespoke  the  sorrow  of  his  soul. 

Some  further  conversation  transpired,  when  the  boy, 
having  promised  to  visit  the  beggar  often,  left  the  lodg- 
ing. 

The  beggar  sat  for  some  moments  in  his  chair,  with 
Iris  eyes  closed,  apparently  in  profound  abstraction. 
There  was  a  nervous  tremulousness  of  the  lips,  and  an 
occasional  twiching  of  the  muscles  of  the  face.  The  boy, 
as  stated,  had  left  the  room.  The  tears  began  now  to 
stream  from  the  old  man's  eyes,  as  he  muttered,  "  Good 
boy,  good  girl ;  God  bless  them.  Would  I  were  a  boy 
again.  The  past,  the  past !  oh,  how  it  stings  me  I 
William  Andrews,  son  of  Richard  Andrews,  and  Nelly 
Penniman,  sweet  little  girl ;  those  names  the  good  angels 
have  recorded.  That  I  should  come  to  this ;  —  the  care 
of  children  1  " 

The  thought  evidently  was  a  painful  one ;  for  he  sighed 
most  pitifully.  Old  age  is  a  period  of  life  that  has  se- 


14  THE    PENNIMANS  ',     OR, 

vere  emotions,  even  to  one  who  can  look  back  upon  life's 
voyage  with  least  self-reproach,  remorse,  and  condemna- 
tion. Before  us  is  the  judgment,  the  revelation  of  every 
secret  which  has  escaped  the  vigilance  of  man  ;  behind 
us  that  vast  array  of  motives  which  make  up  the  sum- 
total  of  our  existence,  in  obedience  to  which  we  have 
acted,  and  sought  out  either  noble  and  disinterested  re- 
sults, or  selfish  and  irreligious  ones. 

Throckmorton  was  often  melancholy.  For  days  he 
would  not  leave  his  apartment ;  but  with  Bible  in  hand 
he  pored  over  its  inspired  truth.  He  feared  to  die  ;  mis- 
erable as  was  his  condition  in  this  life,  he  would  cling 
to  it  rather  than  resign  himself  to  what  he  suspected 
might  be  hia  punishment  beyond  the  portals  of  the  grave. 
He  looked  upon  a  life  of  eighty  years,  whose  fruit  was 
nettles  ;  he  felt  that  he  had  passed  this  weary  waste  of 
time  to  no  end  worthy  of  a  Christian  or  a  man  ;  he  knew 
unto  whom  little  had  been  given  but  little  would  be  re- 
quired ;  yet  there  was  an  ever-wakeful  consciousness 
he  had  buried  that  little,  instead  of  improving  it.  Would 
such  disobedience  to  his  Saviour's  commands  be  forgiven 
him  ?  was  an  inquiry  ever  on  the  lips  of  his  affright- 
ened  and  grief-smitten  conscience.  There  were  times 
when  his  fears  so  clouded  his  mental  scope  that  hope 
vanished,  and  darkness  closed  in  up6n  eternity.  He 
groaned  for  hours,  and  sweat  profusely,  in  his  agony, 
while  this  night  of  moral  blight  hung  o'er  him.  He  could 
feel  its  suffocating  pressure  ;  its  cold,  cold,  icicled  dews 
formed  about  his  convulsed  and  furrowed  brow.  He 
looked  at  the  world  ;  it  kicked  and  shunned  him.  He 
sought  his  Maker,  but  stumbled  in  the  search.  Into  such 
a  state  of  mind  he  had  now  fallen,  and  strangely  too,  on 
parting  with  good  little  Willie  Andrews.  The  boy's  in- 
nocence, contrasted  with  his  own  fell  sins,  had  thrown 
him  into  a  train  of  reflection  which  brought  this  fit  of  mel- 
ancholy on.  He  was  wretched,  that  poor  old  man,  as  he 
sat  with  his  head  bent  down,  the  tears  rolling  from  his 
cheeks.  There  is  something  profoundly  sacred  in  all 
sorrow,  but  to  see  an  old  man  mourn  over  a  life  misspent 
is  among  the  deepest  of  human  pains. 

Besides  Throckmorton,  there  were  two  or  three  other 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  15 

occupants  of  this  dilapidated  dwelling  ;  —  an  Irish,  a 
Scotch,  and  an  English  woman,  whose  means  of  obtain- 
ing support  might  be  honest,  for  aught  we  know,  but  we 
should  be  slow  to  believe  them  on  oath,  if  the  face  can 
be  relied  on  for  a  judgment  of  character.  More  sensual, 
hard,  reckless-featured  women  it  would  be  difficult  either 
for  a  poet-painter  to  imagine,  or  nature  to  devise.  They 
were  in  a  room  under  Throckmorton's,  and  were  seated 
around  a  table  whereon  was  a  jug  of  whiskey.  Each 
had  a  pipe,  and  all  were  under  the  excitement  of  the 
liquor.  To  understand  with  any  nicety  of  connection 
their  broad  Scotch  and  Irish  brogue  was  utterly  impos- 
sible ;  and  the  little  English  that  was  spoken  was  too 
coarse  for  repetition.  We  will,  however,  present  a  part 
of  their  conversation,  that  the  reader's  curiosity  may 
not  go  entirely  unappeased. 

"To  h — 1  wid  ye,"  said  the  Irish  woman,  who  had  a 
dirty  bandage  over  her  left  eye,  as  she  wrested  from  the 
grasp  of  the  English  wench  the  jug  of  whiskey ;  "  to 
h — 1  wid  ye  !  and  is  it  all  the  trate  ye  would  be  after 
putting  into  yar  own  dirty  throat,  yar  ugly-faced  thing, 
yar." 

"  You  've  had  two  swigs  to  my  one,  you  greedy-gut," 
retorted  the  English  woman,  "  and  drunk  enough  ye 
are." 

"  It's  yarself  that's  drunk,  yar  bloated  daughter  of 
the  divil.  To  h — 1  wid  ye,  yar  graduate  of  Bride- 
well." 

"  Come,  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  honey,"  returned 
the  other,  "  I  '11  smash  your  mug  for  you,  if  you  don't 
make  less  splutter."  Thereupon  she  took  from  her 
mouth  a  clay  pipe,  and  threw  it  with  a  good  deal  of  force 
at  the  head  of  her  assailant.  She  dodged  ;  it  struck  the 
wall,  and  broke  into  several  fragments.  The  Irish  wo- 
man, conceiving  herself  much  abused,  seized,  in  a  fit  of 
violent  rage,  the  whiskey-jug,  which  she  was  about  to 
send  at  the  head  of  her  companion,  when  the  Scotch 
woman,  a  fat,  rubicund-nosed  individual,  caught  her  arm, 
and  stayed  the  charge.  "  I  canna,"  vociferated  she, 
"  let  ye  waste  our  grog !  There 's  mair  virtue,  I  trow, 
in  guid  whiskey  than  in  both  ye  skins.  Guidness  !  wha 


16  THE   PENNIMANS  J    OR, 

could  hae  thought  the  like  o'  this  ?  Na,  na ;  I  Ve  twa 
drinks  only ;  and  I  '11  gae  my  life  afore  ye  shall  gae  all 
to  her." 

The  Scotch  woman  ran  on  with  a  lengthy  remonstrance 
against  throwing  the  whiskey  at  the  English  woman's 
head ;  not  that  she  would  save  that  piece  of  property 
from  injury ;  for  little  cared  she  how  soon,  or  in  what 
manner  it  might  be  smashed.  She  had  interposed  iu 
behalf  of  the  liquor,  which  she  finally  succeeded  in  se- 
curing. 

The  quarreling  was  kept  up  briskly,  and  after  a  good 
deal  of  speculation  about  the  boy  Willie's  visit  to  Throck- 
morton's  room,  they  were  startled  by  a  heavy  fall  of 
something  on  the  floor  overhead.  As  it  was  an  unusual 
noise,  their  attention,  though  in  liquor  as  they  were, 
was  peremptorily  challenged. 

The  English  woman,  by  far  the  most  sober  and  rational 
of  the  three,  rose  from  her  seat,  and  proceeded  up  stairs, 
to  the  old  man's  room.  On  opening  the  door,  she  found 
him  stretched  upon  the  floor.  He  had  fallen  in  a  fit. 
She  grasped  him  by  the  arms,  and  lifted  him  rudely  to 
the  bed,  with  a  terrible  oath,  and  a  fiendish  indifference. 
This  done,  she  dashed  a  mug  of  water  in  his  face,  and 
rejoined  her  companions  below. 

Throckmorton's  situation  did  not  appear  to  give  the 
women  the  least  uneasiness.  They  talked  it  over  in  a 
rude  and  vulgar  way,  seeming  to  think  the  beggar  had 
lived  long  enough,  and  that  it  would  be  a  lucky  day's 
work  for  him  to  die.  No  one  proposed  to  get  a  physi- 
cian, or  to  administer  the  least  relief  to  their  suffering 
neighbor.  He  had  fallen  in  a  fit  several  times  before, 
and  recovered  without  ado.  "  So,"  said  they,  "he  may 
come  out  of  this  in  the  same  way." 

It  is  a  painful  scene,  —  that  of  coarse  ignorance,  of 
heartless  vulgarity ;  and  those  of  us  who  have  been 
blessed  with  kind,  anxious  parents,  who  shielded  our 
early  years  from  the  rough  treatment  of  strangers,  and 
gave  to  us  the  advantages  of  a  thorough  intellectual 
training,  by  means  of  which  the  chance  was  ours  to  be 
useful  in  honorable  positions,  cannot  be  too  willing  to 
enter  into  the  strifes  of  good  men  for  the  moral  and  social 


THE   TRIUMPH    OF   GENIUS.  17 

elevation  of  every  being  that  bears  an  immortal  soul,  or 
too  grateful  that  their  lot  is,  instead  of  ignorance,  pen- 
ury, and  crime,  knowledge,  influence,  and  plenty.  In 
the  great  drama  of  life  in  which  each  one  has  a  part  as- 
signed, the  marked  disparity  of  these  parts,  also  that  of 
the  moral  and  intellectual  players,  is  owing,  perhaps, 
less  to  innate  virtue  and  mental  force,  than  to  the  aids 
of  education  and  adventitious  circumstances.  If  this 
be  so,  the  vile,  base-born,  and  thankless,  should  not  be 
regarded  with  too  stern  a  brow,  or  too  unforgiving  a 
temper,  since  their  experience  of  life,  together  with  their 
passions,  may  have  prostituted  them  no  more  than 
would  have  been  debased  citizens  "in  purple  and  fine 
linen  who  fare  sumptuously  every  day,"  had  they  been 
bred  to  the  vices  of  poverty  instead  of  riches. 

"  Think  gently  of  the  erring  ! 

Ye  know  not  of  the  power 
With  which  the  dark  temptation  came, 

In  some  unguarded  hour. 
Ye  may  not  know  how  earnestly 

They  struggled,  or  how  well, 
Until  the  hour  of  weakness  came, 

And  sadly  thus  they  fell." 

It  is  an  exceedingly  painful  thought,  abandoned,  for- 
saken old  age,  penniless,  shiftless  ;  and  wherever  found 
it  should  be  dealt  with  tenderly. 

The  kick  of  arrogant  Dives  and  the  sweet  humanity  of 
the  boy  Andrews  are  in  striking  contrast.  We  love  the 
one ;  we  pity  the  other.  It  is  indeed  a  custom  not  to 
be  encouraged,  street  begging ;  yet  the  really  benevo- 
lent will  never  abuse  beggars,  however  little  disposed 
to  befriend  them.  They  are  among  us,  and  are  God's 
creatures.  Doubtless  many  of  them  have  been  vicious  ; 
perhaps  all ;  hence  their  poverty  ;  yet  who  will  presume 
to  say  that  the  circumstances  which  may  have  controlled 
their  lives  did  not  absolutely  prevent  any  other  condi- 
tion than  that  of  poverty  and  crime.  It  should  be  the 
aim  of  every  community  organized  on  the  principles  of 
civil  and  religious  liberty  to  institute  such  a  system  of 
relief  for  indigence  as  would  clear  our  streets  of  beg- 


18  THE   PENNIMANS. 

gary.  Every  community  is  bound  by  all  honorable  and 
moral  principle,  to  assume  the  guardianship  of  those 
poor  unfortunates  whom  circumstances  have  disgraced 
and  rendered  wretched.  Work  should  be  provided,  and 
where  they  are  too  old  and  infirm  to  labor,  a  comfortable 
home  should  be  in  all  cases  assigned  them. 

"  It  is  a  little  thing,"  says   Ion,  in  Talfourd's  match- 
less play  of  that  name,  "  it  is  a  little  thing 

'To  give  a  cup  of  water  ;  yet  its  draught 
Of  cool  refreshment,  draiu'd  by  fever'd  lips, 
May  give  a  shock  of  pleasure  to  the  frame 
More  exquisite  than  when  nectarean  juice 
Renews  the  life  of  joy  in  happiest  hours. 
It  is  a  little  thing  to  speak  a  phrase 
Of  common  comfort,  which  by  daily  use 
Has  almost  lost  its  sense  ;  yet  on  the  ear 
Of  him  who  thought  to  die  unmourn'd  't  will  fall 
Like  choicest  music  ;  fill  the  glazing  eye 
With  gentle  tears  ;  relax  the  knotted  hand, 
To  know  the  bonds  of  fellowship  again  ; 
And  shed  on  the  departing  soul  a  sense 
More  precious  than  the  benison  of  friends, 
About  the  honor'd  death-bed  of  the  rich, 
To  him  who  else  were  lonely,  that  another 
Of  the  great  family  is  near  and  feels.'  " 


CHAPTER    II.  • 

"  Worthy  friends, 

You  that  can  keep  your  memories  to  know 
Your  friends  in  misery,  and  cannot  frown 
On  men  disgraced  in  virtue." 

LET  us  return  to  Throckmorton,  the  old  beggar,  whom 
we  left  in  a  fit,  upon  his  cot-bedstead,  where  he  had 
been  rudely  placed  by  the  drunken  English  wench  who 
found  him  on  the  floor.  By  chance,  early  in  the  eve- 
ning, and  soon  after  the  old  man's-  fit  came  on,  his 
trusty  dog  Bone,  who  had  been  absent  for  many  weeks, 
and  was  supposed  lost,  came  unexpectedly  home.  He 
ran  as  if  mad  to  the  bed  of  his  master,  whereon  he 
jumped,  and,  stretching  himself  beside  the  lean,  blood- 
less, and  almost  lifeless  body  of  the  beggar,  began  to 
lap  his  time-beaten  face.  The  presence  of  the  dog  was 
as  an  angel's  visit.  Throckmorton,  with  the  tears 
streaming  from  his  dark-blue,  sunken  eyes,  put  his  long 
arms  around  the  shaggy  neck  of  the  animal,  and  kissed 
him  with  parental  fondness.  He  had  believed,  as  be 
fore  stated,  that  the  dog  was  lost,  and  that  he  would 
never  more  return.  Now,  that  he  had  him  by  his  side, 
his  spirits  revived,  and  he  felt  new  life  within  him  ;  for 
the  old  man  had  but  one  love  on  this  earth,  and  that 
was  his  good,  faithful  friend  and  servant,  Bone. 

Bone  was  a  knowing  animal,  possessing  something 
more  than  instinct,  —  something  even  of  the  godlike 
reason  of  man.  "  It  may  be  asserted,"  says  Goldsmith, 
in  his  "Animated  Nature,"  "that  the  dog  is  the  only 
animal  whose  fidelity  is  unshaken ;  the  only  one  who 
knows  his  master  and  the  friends  of  the  family  ;  thev 
only  one  who  instantly  distinguishes  a  stranger ;  the 
only  one  who  knows  his  name,  and  answers  to  the  do- 


20  THE    PENNIilANS  J     OB, 

mestic  call ;  the  only  one  who  seems  to  understand  the 
nature  of  subordination,  and  seeks  assistance ;  the  only 
one  who,  when  he  misses  his  master,  testifies  his  loss  by 
bis  complaints ;  the  only  one  who,  carried  to  a  distant 
place,  can  find  the  way  home ;  the  only  one  whose  nat- 
ural talents  are  evident,  whose  education  is  always 
successful." 

Bone  no  sooner  discovered,  by  his  keen  sent  (which 
is  to  be  attributed  to  the  fact  of  the  diffusion  of  the 
olfactory  nerves  upon  a  very  extensive  membrane  within 
the  skull),  that  his  master  was  ill,  than  his  joy  was  con- 
verted into  grief,  and  he  began  to  moan  pitifully.  His 
master  did  all  he  could  to  soothe  him,  but  in  vain. 
Presently,  Bone  leaped  from  the  bed,  and  made  his  way 
to  the  street ;  then  off  he  bounded  to  the  office  of  the 
city  physician,  who  had  attended  Throckmorton  on  sev- 
eral occasions.  The  dog  remembered  he  had  been  with 
his  master  to  the  doctor's  office,  and  by  an  association 
of  relative  ideas,  he  was  able  to  act,  in  the  present  emer- 
gency, with  all  the  directness  and  dispatch  of  human 
intellect. 

Arriving  at  the  physician's  office,  the  dog  began  to 
howl  and  scratch  lustily  at  the  door.  The  doctor's 
notice  was  challenged ;  he  no  sooner  perceived  Bone, 
whom  he  knew  very  well,  than  he  suspected,  from  his 
strange  action,  that  something  was  the  matter  with  his 
master.  The  dog  crouched  at  his  feet  imploringly ; 
seized  the  doctor  by  the  clothes,  pulling  him  towards 
the  door ;  then,  running  into  the  street,  in  the  direction 
of  the  beggar's  lodgings,  would  stop' to  ascertain  if  the 
physician  followed.  The  man  of  physic  did  not  wait 
for  any  further  demonstrations  of  the  dog's  wishes,  for 
he  understood  well  enough  that  Bone  would  lead  him  to 
some  place  where  his  services  would  be  required.  So 
he  put  on  his  hat  and  followed  him. 

On  arriving  at  the  bed-side  of  Throckmorton,  he  found 
him  to  be  dying.  It  was  doubtful  if  he  lived  through  the 
night.  Bone  sat  upon  his  hind-legs,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  physician's  countenance,  as  if  to  learn  from  it 
something  of  his  master's  fate  ;  but  that  face  had  long 
been  rendered  impassable  by  the  practice  of  a  profes- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  21 

sion  which  requires  that  it  should  be  educated  to  the 
greatest  possible  immobility. 

In  the  room  below  the  beggar's,  the  drunken  wenches 
still  kept  up  a  boisterous  mirthfulness,  totally  indiffer- 
ent to  the  old  man's  condition  ;  whether  he  lived  or  died 
was  quite  the  same  thing  to  them ;  so  that  we  have  in  a 
dumb  animal  more  real  affection  and  nobility  of  nature 
than  in  those  stamped  with  the  image  of  their  Maker ; 
having  the  promise,  under  the  Christian  dispensation, 
of  an  immortality  of  glory,  if  they  will  have  faith  in  sal- 
vation, and  do  "  unto  others  as  they  would  be  done  by." 

Throckmorton  passed  a  sleepless  night.  His  breath, 
with  every  respiration,  growing  weaker  and  weaker. 
His  only  watcher  was  Bone. 

In  the  morning,  early,  came  William  Andrews,  in 
company  with  a  bright-looking  miss,  the  daughter  of  a 
highly  respectable  tradesman,  who  lived  not  far  from 
the  residence  of  the  Andrews.  Willie  had  told  her 
of  the  old  man's  poverty  and  distress,  and  she,  having 
a  ready  sympathy,  begged  of  Willie  to  let  her  accom- 
pany him  to  Throckmorton's  apartment.  The  boy  at 
once  consented ;  for  he  loved  so  well  a  noble  nature 
that  he  was  ever  willing  to  grant  its  requests. 

The  boy  and  the  girl  stood  by  the  emaciated  form  of 
Throckmorton.  He  was  happy  to  look  upon  their  young, 
sweet,  and  open  faces  ;  yet  he  could  give  only  a  slight 
expression  to  his  emotions,  for  he  was  nearly  dead. 
Extending  his  long,  bony  hand  from  the  bed,  he  placed 
it  on  the  head  of  Willie,  and  invoked  God's  blessing 
on  him  and  his  young  companion.  Then,  taking  the 
boy  by  the  hand,  he  clasped  it  in  his  own,  and  said,  in  a 
feeble  and  almost  indistinguishable  voice,  "  I  ana  dy- 
ing." 

The  dog  still  rested  on  his  haunches,  his  dark, 
sombre  eyes  fixed  upon  his  master's  form.  The  chil- 
dren began  to  weep  at  the  beggar's  hopeless  condition, 
which  Bone  perceiving  removed  himself  to  a  corner  of 
the  room,  and  placing  his  head  close  in  the  angle  began 
to  cry  pitifully. 

"That  dog,"  muttered  Throckmorton,  gasping  for 
breath,  "  is  a  noble  animal ;  and  it  is  fit  he  should  have 


22  THE    PEXXIMANS  ',    OR, 

a  noble  master.     I  give  Bone  to  you  —  to  you  —  to  you 

—  my  sweet  little  friend,  whose  future  years  are  full  of 
honors."     Willie  was  in  tears.     He  spoke  not.     "Don't 
cry,  my  boy ;  don't  cry,"  continued  the  sick  man.     "  I 
am  glad  to  go;   and  so  —  so — so  will  you  —  you  — 
when  time — time,  does  its  wonted  work.     Yes  —  yes 

—  you  too  —  will  —  will  be  glad — to — die." 

"  Have  you  no  fears  ?"  timidly  inquired  the  girl. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  old  man,  promptly,  and  with  all 
the  energy  of  which  he  was  capable,  "  many,  many  fears, 
but — but  —  in  Jesus  I  have — oh!  —  I  —  I  —  have  — 
hope." 

The  beggar  now  closed  his  eyes,  and  his  breathing 
was  so  faint  that  Willie  thought  him  dead.  The  little 
fellow  was  entirely  unprepared  for  such  a  scene.  It 
was  a  new  position  to  him,  and  he  was,  in  consequence, 
much  agitated ;  but  he  bore  himself  like  a  man.  He 
smothered,  as  much  as  it  was  possible  in  one  of  his  ex- 
treme sensibilities,  the  sympathy  the  old  man's  poverty 
and  forsaken  condition  naturally  excited.  He  could 
not,  however,  repress  his  tears ;  for  his  emotions  were 
those  of  genius ;  and  if  the  reader  would  know  what 
that  is,  we  would  say,  not  alone  common  sense,  intent 
upon  new  ideas,  as  Madam  de  Stael  has  it,  but  something 
more,  as  expressed  in  immortal  verse,  by  an  English 
poet  of  the  close  of  the  last  century,  —  the  son  of  a 
butcher ;  which  in  the  minds  of  many  Modern  Athenian 
snobs,  no  doubt  is  incredible,  —  that  a  poet  could  origi- 
nate from  so  vulgar  a  source  I 

Thus  the  sweet  and  noble  poet  sings,  —  noble  not  in 
title,  but  in  soul ! 


"  Many  there  be  who  through  the  vale  of  life, 

With  velvet  pace,  unnoticed,  softly  go, 
While  jarring  discord's  inharmonious  strife 
Awakes  them  not  to  woe. 
By  them  unheeded,  carking  care, 
Green-eyed  grief,  and  dull  despair  ; 
Smoothly  they  pursue  their  way, 

With  even  tenor  and  with  equal  breath, 
Alike  through  cloudy  and  through  sunny  day, 
Then  sink  in  peace  to  death. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  GENIUS.  23 

"  But,  ah  !  a  few  there  be  whom  griefs  devour, 

And  weeping  woe  and  disappointments  keen, 
Repining  penury,  and  sorrow  sour, 
And  self-consuming  spleen  ; 
And  these  are  genius'  favorites  :  these 
Knew  the  thought-throned  mind  to  please, 
And  from  her  fleshy  seat  to  draw 

To  realms  where  Fancy's  golden  orbits  roll, 
Disdaining  all  but  'wildering  Rapture's  law,  . 
The  captivated  soul. 

"  Genius,  from  thy  starry  throne, 

High  above  the  burning  zone, 
In  radiant  robe  of  light  array 'd, 
Oh  !  hear  the  plaint  by  thy  sad  favorite  made, 

His  melancholy  moan. 
He  tells  of  scorn,  he  tells  of  broken  vows, 

Of  sleepless  nights,  of  anguish-ridden  days, 
Pangs  that  his  sensibility  uprouse 

To  curse  his  being,  and  his  thirst  for  praise. 
Thou  gav'st  to  him  with  treble  force  to  feel 
The  sting  of  keen  neglect,  the  rich  man's  scorn  : 

And  what  o'er  all  does  in  his  soul  preside 
Predominant,  and  tempers  him  to  steel 

His  high  indignant  pride. 

"  Lament  not  ye,  who  humbly  steal  thro'  life, 
That  Genius  visits  not  your  lowly  shed  ; 
For,  ah,  what  woes  and  sorrows  ever  rife 
Distract  his  hapless  head  ! 
For  him  awaits  no  balmy  sleep, 
He  wakes  all  night,  and  wakes  to  weep  ; 
Or  by  his  lonely  lamp  he  sits 

At  solemn  midnight,  when  the  peasant  sleeps, 
In  feverish  study  and  in  moody  fits 
His  mournful  vigil  keeps. 

"  And,  oh  !  for  what  consumes  his  watchful  oil  ? 

For  what  does  thus  he  waste  life's  fleeting  breath  ? 
'T  is  for  neglect  and  penury  he  doth  toil, 
'T  is  for  untimely  death. 
Lo  !  where  dejected,  pale  he  lies, 
Despair  depicted  in  his  eyes, 
He  feels  the  vital  flame  decrease, 

He  sees  the  grave  wide-yawning  for  its  prey, 
Without  a  friend  to  soothe  his  soul  to  peace, 
And  clear  the  expiring  ray. 

'•  By  Sulmo's  bard  of  mournful  fame, 
By  gentle  Otway's  magic  name, 


24  THE    PENN1MANS  ;     OR, 

By  him,  the  youth  who  smiled  at  death, 
And  rashly  stopp'd  his  vital  breath, 

Will  I  thy  pangs  proclaim  ; 
For  still  to  misery  closely  thou  'rt  allied. 
Though  gaudy  pageants  glitter  by  thy  side, 

And  far  resounding  Fame. 
What  though  to  thee  the  dazzl'd  millions  bow, 
And  to  thy  posthumous  merit  bend  them  low  ; 
Though  unto  thee  the  monarch  looks  with  awe, 
And  thou  at  thy  flash  'd  car  dost  nations  draw, 

Yet,  ah  !  unseen  behind  thee  fly 
Corroding  anguish  soul-subduing  pain, 

And  discontent  that  clouds  the  fairest  sky  ; 
A  melanoholly  train. 

"  Yes,  Genius,  thee  a  thousand  cares  await, 
Mocking  thy  derided  state  ; 
Thee,  child,  adversity  will  still  attend, 
Before  whose  face  flies  fast  the  summer's  friend, 

And  leaves  thee  all  forlorn  ; 
While  leaden  Ignorance  rears  her  head  and  laughs, 

And  fat  Stupidity  shakes  his  jolly  sides, 
And  while  the  cup  of  affluence  he  quaffs 

With  bee-eyed  Wisdom,  Genius  derides, 
Who  toils  and  every  hardship  doth  out-brave, 
To  gain  the  meed  of  praise,  when  mouldering  in  his  grave." 

Willie  was  a  boy  of  the  keenest  sensibilities,  and  such 
a  scene  as  was  now  before  him  could  not  fail  to  touch 
his  warm  and  tender  heart.  It  moved  to  deep  sadness, 
likewise,  the  little  girl,  who  stood  silently  beside  the 
cot.  The  beggar  looked  at  both  the  boy  and  girl,  for  a 
moment  or  two,  with  a  most  unnatural  stare ;  then  clos- 
ing his  eyes  appeared  to  be  in  prayer,  his  breath  grow- 
ing fainter  and  fainter  with  each  instant.  At  length  he 
broke  the  silence :  "My  dear  young  friends, I  am  dying 
fast — fast.  Take  an  old  man's  blessing,  —  a  beggar's 
prayers,  that  —  that  you  may  both  —  both  —  be  —  be 
happy.  Love  one  another,  and  remem  —  mem  —  ber, 
virtue  is  all  worth  stri  —  stri  —  ving  for  in  life ;  and  "  — 
His  strength  was  so  reduced  that  he  could  not  complete 
the  sentence,  but  he  made  motions  with  his  hands 
towards  heaven,  indicating  that  his  thought?  were  of 
that  nature.  He  laid  perfectly  calm,  his  gray  hair  being 
gently  pushed  from  his  bloodless  brow  by  the  soft  hand 
»f  Willie.  Bone,  the  while  had  sat  quite  motionless, 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  25 

watching  alternately  the  countenance  of  his  master  and 
Willie,  and,  strange  as  some  of  our  readers  may  think  it, 
there  were  tears  in  that  faithful  dog's  eyes.  He  seemed 
to  know  that  the  poor  old  beggar  was  going  into  another 
state  of  being ;  he  seemed  to  anticipate  and  to  feel  pro- 
foundly his  loss.  A  brute  in  tears  !  ay,  reader,  and  they 
were  tears  more  burdened  with  sorrow  than  half  of  hu- 
man kind,  and  none  the  less  acceptable  because  flowing 
from  a  brain  in  which  was  no  deceit  and  no  affectation. 
Bone  was  a  treasure,  and  it  was  fortunate  for  Willie  that 
his  keeping  had  been  confided  to  him.  There  is  a  rare 
pleasure  in  the  possession  of  faithful  servants,  whether 
in  the  shape  of  brutes  or  humanity. 

Bone,  for  the  first  time  since  Willie  entered  the  room, 
removed  himself  from  his  fixed  position,  which  at  once 
attracted  the  notice  of  the  children.  Giving  a  most  dis- 
tressing howl,  the  poor  disconsolate  dog  darted  from 
the  room. 

Willie,  turning  to  Throckmorton,  found  him  dead  ! 
He  had  expired  without  a  struggle  or  the  least  sign  of 
pain.  The  boy  fell  upon  his  bosom  and  wept  copiously. 
The  little  girl  withdrew  from  the  cot,  and  seated  herself 
in  an  old  cane-bottom  chair,  which  had  seen  no  slight 
service,  and  was  altogether  the  worse  for  wear.  Some 
little  time  elapsed  before  Wilfie  fully  recovered  from 
the  sad  emotions  which  the  death  of  the  beggar  excited, 
when,  turning  to  his  fair  companion,  he  took  her  hand, 
and  bade  her  follow  him.  "  What,"  said  she,  "  you 
would  not  leave  the  poor  old  man  alone  ?" 

"  I  must  go  and  tell  father  that  he  is  d.ead,"  rejoined 
Willie,  "  and  that  there  is  no  one  to  bury  him." 

"  And  will  your  father  bury  him  ?  "  inquired  the  girl, 
with  a  sweet,  innocent  expression  of  girlish  interest. 

"Oh  yes,"  returned  Willie;  "my  father  loves  the 
poor,  and  helps  them  whenever  he  can.  This  old  man 
I  'm  sure  he  '11  bury,  as  he  has  no  friends." 

He  and  the  little  girl  now  left  the  apartment.  As 
they  passed  to  the  street,  there  sat  at  the  window  of  a 
small  wooden  house  opposite  a  beautiful  girl,  whose 
gaze  was  fixed  intently  on  Willie.  "  Who  is  that  ?"  in 
quired  his  friend. 
2 


26  THE    PEXNIMANS  }     OR, 

"  They  call  her  Agnes,"  returned  Willie.  "  Is  she  not 
beautiful?" 

"  She  is  indeed  ;"  replied  the  girl.  "  Ah,  Willie,  I 
am  so  sad."  As  she  said  this,  she  cast  a  look  of  marked 
dissatisfaction  towards  Agnes. 

Just  at  this  moment,  Bone  came  running  up,  and  soon 
made  his  presence  known  to  his  new  young  master. 
Willie  escorted  his  fair  friend  to  the  door  of  her  resi- 
dence, and  then  directed  his  steps  to  that  of  his  own. 
He  informed  his  father  of  the  beggar's  death  and  desti- 
tution, and  begged  that  he  would  see  him  well  bestowed. 

Mr.  Andrews  was  a  man  of  large  benevolence,  and, 
for  one  of  his  limited  means,  somewhat  too  liberal.  His 
son's  story  affected  him  sensibly.  He  became  at  once 
interested  in  the  beggar's  cause,  and  decided  to  be  at 
the  expense  of  his  burial.  A  neat  coffin  was  ordered,  a 
grave  in  one  of  the  cemeteries  adjoining  the  city  was 
purchased,  wherein  the  remains  of  the  poor  old  beggar 
were  deposited,  under  this  inscription  : 

"  JOHN  P.  THKOCKMORTON 

"  Here  lies,  who  died  of  years, 

Of  grief,  mis'ry,  regret. 
His  bread  he  begged  with  tears, 
With  kicks  and  buffets  met ; 
*  He  liv'd  and  died  unmourn'd, 

Save  by  his  faithful  '  Bone.' 
And  they  who  raised  this  stone." 


CHAPTER    III. 


"  Succeeding  years  thy  early  fame  destroy, 
Thou  who  b'eguu'st  a  man,  wilt  end  a  boy." 

LET  us  now  turn  to  the  Pennimans  —  the  immaculate 
Pennimans,  the  incomparable,  adorable,  exclusive,  indefinite, 
religiously  inclined,  and  irreligiously  inclined,  God-defying, 
and  church-going,  out-spoken  and  in-spoken,  clean  and  un- 
clean —  in  fact  the  Pennimans  of  the  great,  the  flourishing, 
the  pretentious,  and  charming  metropolis  of  New  England, 
where  sense  and  no  sense,  goodness  and  wickedness,  Chris- 
tianity and  Paganism,  are  delicately  and  indelicately  blend- 
ed together  —  and  where,  above  all  things,  hypocrisy  and 
cant  bear  away  the  palm  of  popularity  !  — to  their  residence, 
grand  and  truly  comfortable,  built  not  with  a  view  to  catch- 
pennies —  no,  no,  it  was  no  such  an  affair,  but  a  good  sub- 
stantial piece  of  property.  Look !  on  the  steps  is  a  little  girl : 
it  is  Nelly  —  sweet  little  Nelly !  the  playmate  of  Willie 
Andrews,  who  with  his  youthful  sweetheart,  had  had  many  a 
tumble  in  the  grass  on  the  Common,  and  many  a  race  with 
hoop,  and  many  a  play  at  ball,  and  would  softly  say,  "  Nelly, 
dear,  when  we  grow  up,  we'll  be  friends  still  —  won't  we ;  it 
is  so  mean  to  quarrel.  I  never  will  quarrel  with  you  puss, 
no  never !  as  I  hope  to  die."  There  she  is, this  charming 
little  one,  with  her  eyelids  swollen,  and  grief  upon  her  coun- 
tenance. Her  father,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  treated  her 
harshly  for  being  seen  in  the  company  of  a  beggar  and  a  strange 


28  THE    PENMMANS  ;     OR, 

boy,  and  had  sent  her  straight-way  home.  Let  us  enter 
with  the  girl  that  costly  mansion,  much  in  contrast,  to 
be  sure,  with  the  beggar's  home  we  have  just  left ;  still 
none  the  less  an  honest  home,  for  that.  We  shall  not 
find  the  coarseness  of  the  whiskey-women  here,  but  some- 
thing even  worse :  a  pride  and  fashionable  heartlessness, 
which  make  up  a  sum  of  sin  the  more  unpardonable  be- 
cause they  who  make  a  merit  of  ungodliness  have  well- 
paid  ministers  who  teach  them  that  it  is  wrong. 

Little  Nelly  had  no  sooner  gone  up  stairs  than  she 
was  met  by  her  mother,  a  coarse-featured  woman,  with 
little  to  boast  of  personal  attractions,  unless  it  was  her 
big  nose  and  mouth.  "  You  have  been  crying,  Nelly. 
What 's  the  matter  ?  Come,  I  want  to  know  what 's 
the  matter  ;"  and  as  she  spoke  she  took  hold  of  the  child, 
and  drew  her  nervously  to  her  side. 

Nelly  burst  into  tears,  and  said  her  father  had  been 
Bcolding  her. 

"  What  naughty  thing  have  you  done  ?  Come,  tell 
me  instantly,"  commanded  Mrs.  Penniman,  in  a  tone  ex- 
cessively imperious. 

"  He  —  he  —  he  scolded  me,  because  —  be  —  cause 
—  I  —  I  —  was  with  Willie  Andrews  and  a  beggar," 
whimpered  the  girl. 

"  Willie  Andrews  and  a  beggar! "  returned  the  haughty 
and  heartless  mother.  "My  daughter  in  such  company! 
Scold  you  ;  I  'm  only  surprised  he  did  not  give  you  a 
good  whipping,  on  the  spot.  Willie  Andrews  I  And 
what  family  is  this,  pray  ?  I  know  no  such  people. 
Beggars  !  What  had  you  to  do  with  beggars  ?  " 

"  I  met  Willie  with  a  poor  old  beggar-man,  who  had 
been  kicked  from  a  rich  man's  door,"  replied  Nelly, 
snivelling.  "He  was  very  poor." 

"  Well,  suppose  he  was,"  returned  the  mother,  sharply ; 
"what  of  that?" 

"Why,  I  have  heard  our  minister  say,"  replied  the 
child,  still  grieving,  "  that  he  who  giveth  to  the  poor, 
lendeth  to  the  Lord ;  so  1  gave  the  old  man  all  the  cents 
I  had  to  buy  cake  with  — " 

y  You  did  ?"  interrupted  the  mother,  her  face  flushed 
with  dissatisfaction  ;  "you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your 


THK    TRICMPH    OF    GENIUS.  29 

folly.  Well,  if  that 's  the  use  you  make  of  your  pocket- 
chauge,  you  '11  get  no  more  until  you  acquire  better 
sense.  Who  ever  heard  of  such  doings  ?  I  forbid  you, 
miss,  ever  after  this,  either  speaking  or  looking  at  beg- 
gars, or  boys  whose  parents  are  not  on  visiting  terms 
with  me." 

"  Well,  then  I  must  not  notice  any  more  Lucinda 
McAlpine,"  rejoined  the  girl ;  and  she  began  to  cry 
heartily. 

"  0  yes,  notice  Lucinda,"  returned  Mrs.  Penniman  ; 
"you  may  continue  Luciuda's  aquaintance.  Don't  cry, 
my  dear  ;  don't  cry." 

"You  don't  visit  her,  mother,"  returned  Nelly,  with 
her  half-closed  hand  placed  against  her  eye. 

"No,  but  I  should  have  no  objections  to,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Penniman.  They  are  very  wealthy,  and  Mr.  Mc- 
Alpine  is  one  of  our  first  lawyers. 

"  Would  they  visit  you,  mama !  "  asked  Nelly,  with  a 
sweetly  innocent  tone. 

"  You  are  too  inquisitive,  my  child ;  much  too  curi- 
ous," replied  the  mother,  evidently  not  relishing  a  ques- 
tion which  reminded  her  of  fruitless  endeavors  to  be  on 
visiting  terms  with  the  McAlpines,  who  were  people  of 
substantial  worth,  —  well-born,  and  well-bred.  Mr.  Mc- 
Alpine  and  Mr.  Penniman  were  distinct  and  opposite 
men  ;  the  one  was  a  scholar,  a  gentleman,  and  a  tho- 
rough business  man ;  the  other  a  sordid  usurer,  with  a 
conscience  as  tough  as  an  ox-hide,  who  had  first  acquired 
money  by  the  tricks  of  trade,  in  goods  denominated  dry  ; 
then  by  loans  on  heavy  interest,  and  every  species  of 
niggardly  economy  which  a  soul  with  narrow-limited 
views  of  morals  and  of  happiness  could  devise.  Such 
was  Mr.  Me  Alpine  and  Mr.  Penniman ;  nor  was  the  con- 
trast of  their  better-halves  any  more  creditable  to  snob- 
bery. Mrs.  McAlpine  was  a  thorough-bred  lady.  Her 
mind  was  judiciously  cultivated,  and  her  heart  was 
God's.  ,Mrs.  Penniman  was  a  thorough-bred  nobody-in- 
particular,  with  a  mind  stuffed  with  flummery,  and  a  heart 
deeded  to  the  world.  Yet  Mrs.  Penniman  longed  to  visit 
the  McAlpines ;  while  at  the  same  time  she  would  reprove 
her  daughter  for  an  acquaintance  with  the  noble  little 


30  TEE   TRIUMPH   OF    GENIUS. 

Willie  Andrews,  and  for  charity  to  the  poor  old  beggar. 
Indeed  there  is  a  pitiful  absurdity  in  the  action  of  every 
mind  which  has  no  just  conceptions  of  its  relations  either 
to  this  state  of  being  or  that  to  follow  ;  and  the  more 
prominent  they  are  placed  in  a  community,  through  a 
faculty  for  money-getting  and  money-changing,  the  more 
unfortunate  it  is  for  themselves  and  the  interest  of  so- 
ciety. Such  persons  were  the  Pennimans.  Little  Nelly 
was  a  good,  sweet  child  ;  but  in  the  charge  of  foppery 
as  she  was,  there  could  be  little  to  hope  in  favor  of  her 
womanhood.  It  was  necessary  that  she  should  be  cor- 
rupted, in  order  to  adapt  her  to  the  heartlessness  of  that 
life  to  which  she  was  to  be  educated,  —  a  life  of  self-lau- 
dation, idleness,  and  vanity.  She  was  told  to  associate 
with  none  of  her  schoolmates  whose  parents  were  not  on 
visiting  terms  with  hers  ;  and  whenever  little  Nelly  had 
a  party,  not  one  of  this  class  was  invited,  notwithstand- 
ing they  were  all  the  children  of  highly  respectable 
trades-people,  and,  as  the  world  goes,  quite  honest 
enough.  Their  children,  were  at  the  same  school  with 
Nelly,  for  an  education,  and  her  superiors  in  intelli- 
gence ;  yet  they  had  forbade  all  friendship.  This  could 
not  possibly  be,  because  it  was  entirely  out  of  the  ques- 
tion to  place  the  daughter  of  a  dealer  in  ^dry-goods,  real 
estate,  and  notes  at  usurious  interest,  upon  a  par  with 
a  dealer  in  calf-skins  and  ready-made  boots  and  shoes. 
This  was  an  equality  which  could  not  for  a  moment  be 
tolerated,  notwithstanding  we  are  a  democratic  people, 
and  striving  after  the  perfection  of  social  and  political 
science ;  —  notwithstanding  we  are  prone  to  believe 
that  all  are  born  free  and  equal ;  that  there  should  be 
no  other  distinction,  no  other  cast  but  actual  talent  and 
usefulness ;  and  it  will  be  conceded  that  in  the  social 
scale  there  must  be  gradations,  as  there  ever  will  be, 
on  the  basis  of  virtue,  intellect,  education,  and  industry. 
Pretension,  in  its  self-conceit  and  impertinence,  admits 
of  nor  recognizes  no  superiors,  but  trains  its  sons  and 
daughters,  early  in  life,  to  an  insolent  bearing  and  to 
moral  obliquity,  in  order  to  make  sure  of  perpetuating 
its  kind.  So  little  Nelly  was  invariably  checked  in  all 
the  manifestations  of  her  natural  and  noble  impulses ; 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  31 

taught,  by  a  cold,  meanly-calculating,  inhuman  mother, 
that  her  heart  and  conscience  were  no  guides  for  her  ; 
but  that  she  must  be  ambitious,  and  look  with  favor 
upon  none  below  her  plane,  but  hang  to  the  skirts  of  all 
above. 

Mrs.  Penniman  was,  in  the  common  acceptation  of 
the  term,  "  a  very  smart  woman."  She  could  push  her 
way  in  the  world  with  comparative  ease,  in  whatever 
direction  she  might  choose.  With  little  or  no  sensibil- 
ity, the  shafts  of  ridicule  were  shot  at  her  in  vain.  She 
had  wealth  "  to  go  on,"  and  with  it  she  determined  to 
out-face  everybody.  Nothing  moved  her ;  nothing  dis- 
turbed her  serene  complacency.  She  had  several  daugh- 
ters, but  chance  had  given  her  no  sons.  These  daughters 
were  showy  women  ;  dressed  expensively,  and  had  a 
vast  deal  of  their  mother's  worldly  air.  They  had, 
through  the  manceuverings  of  a  fashion-struck  mama, 
been  all  married  off,  save  little  Nelly  ;  —  one  to  a  Mr. 
Artemas  Bottlefly ;  another  to  Mr.  Edward  Roundhead 
(who,  by  the  way,  was  a  "devilish  clever  fellow"); 
and  another  to  Jerry  Donothing,  who  flourished  on  his 
"shape  and  talents,"  and  the  name  of  his  honored 
father.  They  were  all  what  are  technically  termed 
"  youngimen  of  the. highest  standing,"  —  that  is,  they 
had  rich  fathers,  and  had  received  the  education  of 
gentlemen ;  but  in  all  the  essential  qualities  of  men  they 
were  sadly  deficient.  They  were  fond  of  fast  horses 
and  fast  women,  and  the  et  ceteras  of  a  lazy,  idle  life. 

These  were  the  individuals  whom  Mrs.  Penniman  had 
selected  for  her  daughters.  She  deemed  such  fellows 
all  sufficient  to  insure  their  happiness  ;  and  who  should 
know  better  than  she  what  was,  and  what  was  not,  to 
their  advantage  ?  The  various  members  of  her  family, 
in  the  direct  and  collateral  line,  when  gathered  together 
on  any  occasion,  made  quite  a  glitter  of  snobbery  ;  but 
they  were  profoundly  unconscious  of  this,  their  true 
character.  Everybody  with  rational  views  of  life,  and 
just  conceptions  of  duty,  laughed  heartily  at  these  peo- 
ple, in  a  quiet  way,  whilst  they  little  suspected  the 
"jokes  cracked"  at  their  pretension,  and  the  immode- 


32  THB   PKNNIMANS  ;     OR, 

rate  mirth  even  of  those  with  whom  they  were  the  most 
intimate. 

Little  Nelly  was  a  great  pet  of  the  entire  family,  and, 
in  fact,  of  all  who  visited  the  house ;  and  as  she  was  re- 
garded by  her  ambitious  ma. as  an  attractive,  smart  girl, 
a  "great  match"  was  anticipated.  No  one  with  less 
pretensions  than  the  son  of  a  statesman  would  be  at  all 
acceptable.  Mama  was  on  the  constant  look  out,  and 
the  late  bad  company  in  which  her  daughter  had  been 
found  only  tended  to  sharpen  her  vigilance  over  the  girl. 
Mr.  Penniman  was  a  sort  of  Dolly,  a  character  drawn 
most  admirably  in  London  Assurance,  by  Dion  Beauci- 
cault ;  —  a  kind  of  pack-horse,  to  do  and  to  go  just  as 
Zantippe  should  decide.  She  had  married  for  money  a 
man  much  older  than  herself ;  and  rule  him  she  would. 
Old  Penniman  had  no  advantages  of  education,  in  early 
life.  He  was  of  humble  parentage,  and  became  so  im- 
pressed, when  a  boy,  of  the  value  of  money,  that  he  ap- 
prenticed himself  to  a  trader,  and  very  soon  was  initi- 
ated into  all  the  mysteries  of  traffic.  Being  of  an 
industrious,  plodding  turn,  he  gradually  "worked  his 
way"  into  a  credit,  and  set  up  for  himself.  By  care- 
fully saving  all  the  pennies,  he  gradually  accumulated  a 
capital,  and  by  lucky  investments  in  real  estate,  at  ex- 
ceedingly low  figures,  together  with  a  good  paying  trade, 
he  grew  to  be  a  man  of  great  wealth.  As,  however,  he 
had  devoted  his  entire  energies  to  money-getting,  he  was 
utterly  without  taste  for  any  pursuits  of  a  more  humaniz- 
ing character.  To  talk  to  him  of  art,  of  the  sciences, 
of  philosophy,  or  of  a  subject  not  immediately  connected 
with  dollars  and  cents,  was  placing  him  at  such  a  disad- 
vantage as  would  mortify  any  person  who  might  realize 
the  meanness  of  their  ignorance.  But  Penniman  realized 
nothing  of  the  kind.  He  was  rich,  paid  heavy  taxes ; 
and  this,  with  him,  was  a  consideration  paramount  to 
all  others. 

Such,  in  brief,  were  the  Pennimans,  and  such  is  the 
would-be  somebodies  of  our  "  Modern  Athens," — the 
snobs.  Nelly,  sweet  little  Nelly,  deserved  a  better  fate 
than  to  be  born  to  the  care  and  training  of  these  people. 
In  other  and  more  virtuous  hands  much  might  be  ex- 


THE   TRIUMPH  OF   GENIUS.  33 

pected  of  benevolence  and  genuine  usefulness  from  her 
womanhood.  How  justly  has  Cowper,  in  his  Progress 
of  Error,  written  on  this  point : 

"  'Tis  granted,  and  no  plainer  truth  appears, 
Our  most  important  are  our  earliest  years  ; 
The  mind,  impressible  and  soft,  with  ease 
Imbibes  and  copies  what  she  hears  and  sees, 
And  through  life's  labyrinth  holds  fast  the  clew 
That  education  gives  her,  false  or  true." 

Having  little  to  boast  of  on  the  score  of  ancestry, 
Mrs.  Penniman  was  most  desirous  to  ally  herself  to  the 
McAlpines,  through  a  marriage  of  her  daughter  Nelly 
with  young  James  McAlpine,  then  in  College  at  Cam- 
bridge. He  was  a  good-looking,  genteel  student,  but  by 
no  means  of  more  than  average  ability,  and  gave  himself 
rather  to  the  pleasures  of  society  than  to  his  studies. 
Still  he  was  the  son  of  Rolf  McAlpine,  MI  C.,  and  a  law- 
yer of  high  standing.  This  was  quite  enough  for  mama, 
who  instantly  set  her  wits  to  work  to  devise  a  way  to 
bring  about  an  acquaintance  and  intimacy  of  the  fami- 
lies. 

Never  at  a  loss  for  expedients  to  assist  her  own  plans, 
Mrs.  Penniman  determined  that  her  husband  should  in 
future  give  all  his  law  business  —  which,  by  the  way, 
was  not  inconsiderable  —  to  the  Hon.  Col.  McAlpine, 
instead  of  Peter  Fletcher,  who  was  a  batchelor,  and  a 
highly  moral  one  besides,  a  fact  though  not  uncommon, 
is,  nevertheless,  we  fear,  none  too  common.  In  this  way 
she  finally  succeeded  in  establishing  social  relations  with 
the  McAlpines  ;  for  Penniman's  business  affairs  being 
very  extensive,  he  had  frequently  to  avail  of  counsel. 

McAlpine  found  in  the  snob  a  good-natured  and  gen- 
erous client,  who  never  disputed  the  correctness  of  his 
fees.  This  Mrs.  Penniman  had  most  positively  enjoined. 
So  valuable  a  client  the  colonel  was  disposed  to  treat 
with  a  good  deal  of  consideration  ;  and  perceiving  from 
the  social  chat  he  often  had  with  Penniman  that  it  would 
be  quite  agreeable  to  his  wife  to  visit  Mrs.  McAlpine,  he 
gave  Penniman  to  understand  that  he  should  be  happy 
to  have  social  relations  to  exist  between  the  families. 
2* 


34  THE   PENNIMANS;     OR, 

He  had  now  made  his  point.  His  wife  no  sooner 
learned  that  she  would  be  well  received  than  she  deter- 
mined at  once  to  call  on  Mrs.  McAlpine,  and  thus  open 
the  game  she  had  in  mind  to  play  for  the  young  man 
whom  she  had  selected  for  her  daughter. 

Nelly  had  conceived  a  strong  attachment  for  "Willie 
Andrews.  They  had  often  met  on  the  Common,  and 
were  fellow-playmates.  He  had  delighted  her  for  hours 
with  his  wild,  boyish  glee.  Especially  was  she  pleased 
with  his  trig  little  man-of-war,  which  she  frequently  as- 
sisted him  in  sailing  upon  the  pond.  They  played  hoop 
and  rolled  in  the  grass  together.  Sweet  was  the  inno- 
cence of  their  childhood. 

Of  this  intimacy  and  affection,  however,  Mrs.  Penni- 
man  was  ignorant ;  and  Nelly,  knowing  as  she  did 
her  mother's  contempt  for  the  Andrews,  —  the  father 
"being  only  a  musician,"  —  was  careful  to  conceal  her 
attachment,  and  "to  leave  her  mother  entirely  in  the 
dark  "  as  to  the  nature  of  their  acquaintance  and  friend- 
ship. 

As  time  wore  on,  the  Cambridge  student,  James  Mc- 
Alpine, through  the  adroit  management  of  Mrs.  Penni- 
man,  came  often  to  see  Nelly,  and  was  indeed  quite 
charmed  with  her  attractions.  Nelly,  under  the  in- 
structions of  her  ambitious,  unscrupulous  parent,  re- 
ceived his  attentions  with  an  apparent  satisfaction, 
though  she  refused  to  love  him,  much  to  the  chagrin 
and  rage  of  mama.  But  Mrs.  Penniman  had  deter- 
mined that  her  daughter  should  marry  McAlpine  whether 
there  was  any  love  in  the  affair  or  not ;  and  as  often 
as  James  was  repulsed  in  his  addresses,  the  mother 
would  the  more,  encourage  him  to  persevere.  Willie 
possessed  Nelly's  heart,  and  no  one,  she  thought,  could 
please  her  so  much  as  he.  Never  a  day  passed  without 
their  meeting  or  seeing  each  other.  If  the  weather  was 
too  unpleasant  to  go  into  the  street  Willie  would  pass 
and  repass  the  Pennimans'  house  until  Nelly  appeared 
at  the  window,  from  which  she  always  slipped  him  a 
billet-doux,  when  it  could  be  done  with  safety. 

This  intimacy  was  managed  with  so  much  skill  that 
no  one  suspected  the  parties  of  any  commerce  whatever, 


THE    TEITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  35 

after  Mrs.  Penniman  had  forbidden  Nelly  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Willie,  as  a  "  vulgar  boy,  and  altogether  be- 
neath the  notice  of  gentle-folks,  —  persons  of  quality." 

The  youth  had  inherited  from  his  father  a  decided  talent 
for  music,  and  from  his  mother,  who  was  a  woman  of 
excellent  education,  and  an  artist  of  no  mean  preten- 
sions, a  genius  for  poetry  and  painting.  Nelly  was  de- 
lighted with  the  boy's  talent,  and  every  chance  that 
offered  she  was  at  Willie's  house,  to  hear  him  play  upon 
the  piano-forte,  and  to  see  him  paint.  He  often  wrote 
her  poetry  she  was  only  too  willing  to  receive. 

All  went  well  for  a  long  time,  until  McAlpine  hap- 
pened one  day  to  be  passing  by  the  residence  of  the 
Andrews,  at  the  same  time  that  Nelly,  in  company  with 
Willie,  had  egressed  from  the  house  ;  but  as  the  lovers 
were  intent  upon  each  other  McAlpine  escaped  observa- 
tion. He  had  heard  of  this  Andrews  family,  through 
Mrs.  Peuniman,  and  by  "  putting  this  and  that  to- 
gether "  he  at  once  concluded  he  had  discovered  the 
reason  why  Nelly  would  not  consent  to  betroth  herself 
to  him.  "  She  was  in  love  with  this  fellow  "  in  whose 
company  he  had  just  seen  her,  and  whom  he  rightly  sup- 
posed to  be  the  boy  whose  acquaintance  she  had  been 
prohibited  by  her  mother. 

Here  was  a  grand  opportunity  for  an  explosion.  He 
had  only,  perhaps,  to  inform  the  haughty  Mrs.  Penni- 
man of  what  he  had  seen,  to  bring  matters  into  such  a 
train  as  he  would  have  them.  Mrs.  Penniman  listened 
with  amazement  to  James'  disclosures,  and  made  such  a 
violent  attack  on  Nelly's  "shameful  conduct,"  as  she 
termed  it,  that  from  that  time  her  intimacy  with  Willie 
ceased.  It  was  a  desperate  struggle  between  love  and 
pride.  Willie  was  very  dear  to  Nelly  ;  but  all  her  ac- 
quaintances were  constantly  laughing  at  her  for  having 
been  the  associate  of  "low  people,"  and  her  parents 
declared  they  would  disown  her  "  if  she  ever  spoke  or 
looked  at  the  vulgar  boy  again." 

With  no  one  to  sustain  her  in  her  preference  for 
Willie,  and  a  cold,  distant  manner  on  his  part,  when  he 
found  she  grew  less  willing  to  do  as  he  wished,  the  girl, 
pressed  by  the  attentions  of  the  handsome,  dashing 


36  THE   PENNIMAKS  ',     OR, 

McAlpine,  relaxed  in  her  first  love,  and  began  to  be  taken 
up  with  a  second. 

Willie  was  a  proud-spirited  boy ;  and  when  he  under- 
stood from  his  father  of  the  foolish  notions  of  the  Penni- 
mans,  and  the  contempt  in  which  they  held  everybody 
who  were  in  humble  circumstances,  he  instantaniously  re- 
solved, though  he  loved  Nelly  dearly,  to  associate  with 
her  no  longer,  unless  as  an  equal.  This,  however,  could 
not  be,  and  hence  the  coolness  and  final  discontinuance 
of  their  friendship  and  love.  Nelly  had  been  corrupted 
under  the  combined  influence  of  pretension.  She  was 
another  creature,  now  that  she  had  overcome  her  passion 
for  Willie.  Her  simplicity  and  genuine  warm-hearted- 
ness had  given  way  to  the  flippancy  and  ostentation  of 
fashion. 

McAlpine  was  a  gay,  proud  college  student,  imbued 
with  all  the  absurd,  false  views  of  life,  which  are  quite 
inseparable  from  the  early  years  of  even  the  most  ra- 
tional soul.  He,  too,  felt  a  degree  of  contempt  for  persons 
whose  means  are  insufficient  for  display.  Nelly  having 
promised  herself  to  him  in  marriage,  he  succeeded,  with- 
out much  difficulty,  in  establishing  in  her  mind  all  that 
was  false  and  puerile  in  his  own.  He  would  talk  to  her 
of  the  combined  wealth  and  influence  of  their  respective 
families,  and  the  necessity  they  were  under  of  support- 
ing handsomely  the  advantage  they  derived  from  being 
of  the  aristocracy.  They  must  assume  the  dignity  and 
exclusiveness  of  the  circle  to  which  they  belonged  ;  they 
must  exist  not  for  any  useful  end,  but  simply  for  the 
gratification  of  those  ridiculous  feelings,  which  are  so 
well  pleased  with  the  liberty  of  trifling  away  a  life  time 
in  fancied  superiority  over  that  absolute  intellect,  in  ita 
several  degrees,  which  makes  no  pretensions,  but  toils 
on,  as  the  only  means  of  happiness  and  the  chief  among 
earthly  duties. 

Young  McAlpine,  after  the  completion  of  his  college 
course,  had  determined  to  study  the  law,  little  knowing 
of,  or  indeed  caring  about,  the  labor  involved  in  the 
mastery  of  jurisprudence.  It  was  necessary  for  a  gen- 
tleman to  be  of  the  "  learned  professions  ;"  so  he  chose 
the  law. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  37 

It  was  an  unfortunate  ambition  in  him  to  desire  the 
membership  of  the  Bar ;  for  he  had  neither  the  talent 
nor  industry  to  rise  above  the  pettifogger ;  and  of  this 
class  of  mean  lawyers  Heaven  knows  we  have  full 
enough  throughout  the  country,  —  "  limbs  of  the  law  " 
much  better  lopped  off  than  retained  on  the  noble,  hale 
old  tree  of  jurisprudence.  Law,  to  the  most  compre- 
hensive and  patient  mind,  is  of  most  difficult  grasp. 
What,  then,  must  it  be  to  a  brain  incapable  of  acute 
analysis  and  strict  method.  Such  understandings  never 
can  rise  above  the  simple  routine  of  practice ;  and 
doomed  to  live  in  the  ever-present  consciousness  of 
their  want  of  intellectual  power,  they  are  too  apt  to  be- 
come the  worst  of  citizens,  and  ready  at  all  times  to 
foment  disputes  among  their  fellow-men.  It  is  this  class 
of  practitioners  that  led  Jeremy  Bentham  to  say  of  the 
legal  profession,  in  his  second  Letter  to  the  Court  of 
Torento,  —  "If  there  is  a  class  of  men  whose  personal 
interests  are  in  constant,  necessary,  and  direct  opposition 
to  the  public  interest,  it  is  the  class  of  lawyers.  The 
glorious  uncertainty  of  the  law;  —  that  is  the  source 
whence  they  draw  all  the  profits  of  their  profession; 
this  is  the  treasury  which  supplies  them  with  delays, 
money,  and  reputation.  The  more  difficult  justice  is  to 
be  got  the  dearer  it  will  sell.  It  appears,  at  the  first  glance, 
that  the  necessary  influence  of  the  trade  which  these 
men  exercise  is  to  inspire  them  with  a  profound  indiffer- 
ence as  between  justice  and  injustice,  right  and  wrong, 
since  it  is  their  business  to  hire  themselves  out  to  defend 
one  or  the  other  by  turns.  But  when  we  come  to  look 
at  the  matter  more  closely,  it  is  wrong  which  pays  them 
best,  because  the  success  of  that  depends  more  upon 
their  good  offices  than  the  successful  right,  and  of  course 
the  side  of  injustice  is  that  which  they  prefer.  The  Nea- 
politan assassin  sells  his  arm  and  his  dagger,  receives 
his  pay,  and  risks  his  life.  The  advocate  at  the  bar  sells 
his  words,  receives  his  money,  and  risks  nothing.  Nay, 
more,  a  perverse  and  senseless  multitude  follow  him 
with  shouts,  as  they  would  a  conqueror,  and  applauses 
shower  on  his  head  in  proportion  to  the  mischief  that  he 
does.  If  there  is  a  profession  which  trains  its  members 


38  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

to  do  evil  and  to  avoid  the  punishment  of  it,  it  is  this. 
If  there  is  a  profession  which  by  the  habits  of  gain  ac- 
quired by  sustaining  indifferently  truth  and  falsehood, 
effaces  from  the  soul  all  sincerity,  all  love  of  truth,  it  is 
this! !  If  there  is  a  profession  which  teaches  a  man,  by 
the  constant  practice  of  his  life,  to  sell  his  faculties  to 
the  highest  bidder  to  say  anything  and  everything, 
to  accuse  everybody  and  to  defend  everybody  for  hire,  to 
let  himself  out  body  and  soul  to  "the  employer  who  pays 
best,  and  consequently  to  be  always  ready  to  sacrifice 
for  the  slightest  profit  the  interest  of  the  greatest  num- 
ber, it  is  the  trade  of  the  lawyer."  A.  sad  estimate  of  law 
is  this  of  Jeremy  Bentham ;  yet  who  will  presume  to  gain- 
say its  correctness.  Jurisprudence  in  the  abstract,  or 
ideal,  is  one  thing  ;  in  the  practice  it  becomes  quite 
another.  The  student  feels  this  deeply,  and,  if  he  has 
an  honest  mind,  heartily  laments  that  there  is  not  a 
better,  more  reliable  medium  between  man  and  man,  by 
which  his  action  shall  be  guided  and  governed. 

Mrs.  Penniman  having  secured  JVIcAlpine,  her  next 
step  would  be  to  hurry  on  the  marriage,  as  no  one  knew 
better  than  that  shrewd,  politic  mother,  the  many  slips 
there  have  been  between  the  cup  and  lip.  The  wedding 
was  to  be  a  magnificent  affair.  Every  one  who  had  the 
good  fortune  of  Mrs.  Penniman's  acquaintance  was  to  be 
invited  ;  so,  too,  were  all  the  literary  lions  and  men  of 
genius  with  whom  the  McAlpines  had  a  general  inti- 
macy. It  was  to  be  a  very  recherche"  affair.  There  was 
to  be  present  none  save  persons  of  the  highest  quality. 
The  proud  Mrs.  Penniman  despised  most  heartily  the  vil- 
lainous canaille ;  which  included,  to  her  mind,  all  with 
whom  she  considered  it  would  be  beneath  her  dignity 
to  associate.  The  wedding  was  to  be  a  grand  affair. 
Nelly  longed  to  be  a  bride,  and  James  thought  it  would 
be  such  a  pretty  thing  to  marry ;  to  have  a  wife  and 
family  ;  to  be  a  father  !  and  Nelly,  too,  was  so  arfxious 
to  be  a  mother  !  If  she  could  only  have  a  little  boy  of 
her  own  she  should  be  so  delighted. 

This  passion  for  babies  is  certainly  very  innocent,  and 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  the  young  and  sanguine  look 
forward  to  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  with  these  little 


THE   TRIUMPH   OP   GENIUS.  39 

ones  ;  but  we  fear  time  brings,  too  often,  a  grief  attend- 
ant on  the  death  or  moral  depravity  of  these  creations 
which  calls  up  deep  regret  at  such  frail  possessions 
having  been  desired  or  obtained.  We  are  not  over  cyn- 
ical, but  we  would  avoid  all  possible  sorrow,  and  keep 
the  heart  as  cheerful  as  human  wisdom  will  permit ;  for 
cheerfulness  is  the  greatest  of  blessings  ; — it  is  meat, 
and  drink,  and  clothing.  One  can  live  upon  it ;  it  is  a 
substitute  for  everything  else.  With  it  the  possessor 
has  all  that  he  wants  ;  and  without  it  he  is  a  miserable 
beggar ;  for  he  has  nothing  that  he  desires.  It  is 
money  in  bank  to  a  man  ;  for'though  he  has  ever  so  little 
money,  he  has  all  he  wants,  because  he  can  do  very  well 
without  more.  It  is  a  thermometer  by  which  the  tem- 
perature of  the  feelings  is  regulated.  One  is  cold,  the 
other  is  hot,  because  one  is  cheerful,  the  other  is  not. 
A  cheerful  temper  has  the  great  advantage  of  always 
seeing  the  bright  side  of  every  object.  It  is  a  friend  of 
the  virtues,  and  a  sworn  enemy  to  vice.  David  Hume 
pronounced  a  cheerful  temper  to  be  worth  a  thousand 
pounds  a  year.  The  easiest  way  to  be  rich,  therefore, 
is  to  have  such  a  temper.  Cheerfulness  being  so  valu- 
able a  possession,  it  is  indeed  strange  that  so  few 
comparatively  are  in  the  enjoyment  of  its  blessings,  es- 
pecially when  it  may  be  had  on  most  reasonable  terms. 
The  Pennimans,  —  and  by  this  expression  we  mean  all 
the  daughters  and  sons  in  law, — notwithstanding  their 
riches,  were  far  from  cheerful.  They  were  too  proud 
and  dignified  to  be  ever  in  right  good  cheer.  If  one 
would  be  light-hearted  and  happy  he  must  not  be  im- 
moderately selfish,  or  insufferably  haughty. 

Scarcely  anything  was  talked  of,  now,  by  Nelly's  fam- 
ily and  acquaintance,  but  the  marriage  and  splendid 
wedding  party.  Presents  of  the  richest  and  most  costly 
character  were  expected,  and  all  was  to  go  merry  as 
the  marriage  bell. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  Marry  never  for  houses,  nor  marry  for  land, 
Nor  marry  for  nothing  but  only  love." 

WE  will  open  this  chapter  with  the  query  of  "  what  is 
love  ?  " 

"Its  richest,  rarest  fruits  of  bliss, 
Are  plucked  on  danger's  precipice," 

we  are  told,  by  a  noble  poet  of  Ireland.  Rauch,  in  his 
"  Psychology  and  Anthropology,"  says,  it  is  the  devo- 
tion of  one  person  to  another :  the  surrendering  of  the 
independence  of  our  existence,  and  desire  to  become 
self-conscious,  not  in  ourselves  only,  but  especially  in 
the  consciousness  of  another.  In  such  we  seek  our- 
selves ;  we  desire  to  be  acknowledged  and  received 
with  it.  The  consciousness  of  such  we  desire  to  pene- 
trate, to  fill  with  our  person  all  their  will  and  knowl- 
edge, all  desires  and  wishes.  Then  they  live  in  us,  as 
we  live  in  them.  Thus  both  are  identical,  and  each  lays 
his  whole  soul  into  this  identity.  Love  is  therefore 
ennobling ;  for  loving,  we  do  not  belong  to  ourselves, 
but  to  those  whom  we  love,  as  they  belong  to  us. 
Whatever  cannot  be  drawn  within  this  circle  of  our 
love,  leaves  us  indifferent.  Especially  in  female  charac- 
ters is  love  most  beautiful ;  for  with  them  this  devotion, 
this  surrender,  is  the  highest  point,  as  they  centre  their 
intellectual  and  real  life  upon  this  feeling  of  love,  in  it 
find  their  only  hold -on  life  ;  and  if  misfortune  touches  it, 
they  disappear  like  a  light  which  is  extinguished  by  the 
first  rough  breath. 

This  subjective  tenderness  of  feeling  is  not  found  in 
the  classic  art  of  Greece,  where  it  appears  only  as  a  sub- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  41 

ordinate  element  for  representation,  or  only  in  reference 
to  sensual  enjoyments.  In  Homer,  either  no  great 
weight  is  placed  upon  it,  or  love  appears  in  its  most 
worthy  form,  as  marriage  in  the  domestic  circle, — ~as, 
for  instance,  in  the  person  of  Penelope,  or  as  the  solici- 
tude of  a  wife  and  mother  in  Andromache,  or  in  other 
moral  relations.  The  tie,  on  the  other  hand,  which 
attaches  Paris  to  Helen,  is  acknowledged  as  immoral, 
and  is  the  cause  of  the  terrors  and  misfortunes  of  the 
Trojan  war ;  while  the  love  of  Achilles  to  Briseis  has 
little  depth  of  feeling ;  for  Brisies  is  a  slave,  and  at  the 
disposal  of  his  will.  In  the  odes  of  Sappho  the  lan- 
guage of  love  is  raised  to  lyric  inspiration  ;  yet  it  is 
more  the  lingering,  consuming  fire  of  the  blood  that  is 
expressed,  than  the  warmth  of  feeling  and  the  emotions 
of  the  heart.  In  another  respect,  love,  as  expressed  in 
the  delightful  little  songs  of  Anacreon,  is  a  cheerful, 
general  enjoyment,  which,  without  suffering,  without 
struggles,  and  without  the  resignation  of  an  oppressed 
and  longing  heart,  joyfully  seizes  the  immediate  pleas- 
ure, not  regarding  it  as  necessary  to  possess  this  object 
of  affection,  and  no  other.  Neither  does  the  noble 
tragedy  of  the  ancients  know  the  inclination  of  love  in 
its  romantic  significance.  Especially  with  JSchylus  and 
Sophocles,  it  does  not  claim  any  particular  interest ; 
for  though  Antigone  is  destined  to  be  the  wife  of  Hse- 
mon,  —  though  Haemon  defends  her  before  his  father, 
and  even  kills  himself  because  he  cannot  save  her,  —  he 
speaks  before  Creon  only  of  objective  relations,  and  not 
of  the  power  of  subjective  passion,  which  in  fact  he  did 
not  feel,  in  the  sense  of  a  modern,  passional  lover. 
Euripides  makes  use  of  love  as  an  essential  pathos,  in 
his  Phedra ;  yet  there  it  is  represented  as  a  criminal 
aberration  of  blood,  —  as  a  passion  of  sense,  —  as  in- 
stigated by  Venus,  who  desires  the  destruction  of  Hip- 
polytus,  because  he  will  not  bring  sacrifices  to  her.  So 
we  have,  in  the  Venus  de  Medici,  a  beautiful  image  of 
love  ;  and  nothing  can  be  said  against  its  neatness  and 
plastic  execution  ;  but  the  expression  of  internal  warmth 
and  life,  as  modern  art  demands  it,  is  wholly  wanting. 
The  same  is  the  case  in  the  Roman  poetry,  when,  after 


42  THE   PENMMANS  ',     OR, 

the  dissolution  of  the  Republic,  and  of  the  regidity  of 
moral  life,  love  degenerated  more  or  less  into  sexual  en- 
joyments. 

Petrarch,  on  the  other  hand,  though  he  wrote  his  son- 
nets for  amusement,  gained  his  immortal  reputation  by 
the  fancies  of  his  love,  which,  under  the  warm  Italian 
sky,  connected  itself,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  with 
religion.  Dante's  exaltation  also  proceeded  from  his 
loye  of  Beatrice,  which,  rendered  sublime  in  him,  be- 
came a  religious  love  ;  while  his  boldness  and  bravery 
was  transformed  into  a  religious  institution  of  art,  in 
which  —  what  no  one  else  would  venture  —  he  made 
himself  the  judge  of  all  men,  and  consigned  them  to  hell, 
to  purgatory,  and  to  heaven.  As  a  contrast  to  this  ex- 
altation Bocaccio  represents  love  partly  in  vehemence 
as  a  passion,  partly  as  stripped  of  all  morality,  making, 
in  his  various  novels,  the  morals  of  his  age  and  country 
pass  in  review  before  our  eyes.  In  the  German  minne- 
song,  love  is  full  of  piety,  —  tender,  without  richness  of 
imagination  ;  playful,  melancholy,  monotonous.  With 
the  Spaniards  it  is  full  of  imagination  in  its  expression, 
knightly,  subtle  in  seeing  and  defending  its  rights  and 
duties,  as  a  matter  of  honor,  and  fanatical  in  the  time  of 
its  highest  splendor.  With  the  French,  especially  in 
latter  times,  it  becomes  gallant,  inclining  to  vanity,  —  a 
forced  feeling,  created  by  sophistry,  —  a  kind  of  sensual 
enjoyment,  without  passion,  or  passion  without  enjoy- 
ment,—  a  feeling  and  sentimentality  full  of  reflections. 

Sexual  love  is  founded  on  a  tendency  of  nature,  which, 
divided  between  two  of  different  sexes,  draws  them 
irresistibly  yet  mysteriously  towards  each  other,  and 
makes  each  other  feel  that  it  cannot  find  its  completion 
in  itself,  and  must  seek  for  it  in  another.  This  love  is 
pure  and  noble  when  it  is  called  forth  by  love.  The 
purest  love  is  the  effect  of  the  most  perfect  external 
beauty  in  its  union  with  an  equally  perfect  internal 
beauty  of  the  heart.  It  calls  forth  noble  and  delightful 
feelings  in  ourselves,  silences  every  desire,  and  renders 
us  happy  by  its  presence.  It  is  a  perfect  union  of  the 
most  beautiful  in  us  with  the  most  beautiful  out  of  us. 
Its  removal  leaves  a  void  in  the  heart ;  we  are  drawn 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  43 

after  it.  This  is  the  case  with  all  lovers.  Every  one 
considers  his  love  the  fairest,  most  beautiful,  most  vir- 
tuous of  all  that  ever  lived.  If  personal  beauty  is 
wanting,  other  charms  will  compensate  for  it,  or  make 
the  lover  overlook  the  deficiency.  Sexual  love  is  the 
bloom  of  our  intellectual  and  bodily  life ;  and  as  the 
flower  reveals  by  its  color  and  fragrance  the  life  of  the 
plant,  so  love  will  render  manifest  the  ideal  of  beauty 
and  lovliness,  and  the  kind  of  life  which  a  person  con- 
ceals within  himself.  Again,  love  is  the  intellectual 
and  physical  development  of  youth ;  for  it  is  the  joint 
product  of  imagination  and  fancy,  and  of  bodily  vigor, 
and  freshnes  of  nerves  and  muscles,  all  of  which  have 
arrived  at  the  stage  of  maturity.  If  love  induces  us  to 
seek  for  all  that  is  noble  and  beautiful,  in  order  to  adorn 
with  it  the  object  of  love  ;  if  we  desire  to  seek  for  honor 
and  every  virtue,  to  lay  it  at  the  feet  of  the  beloved 
one  ;  if  we  long  for  nothing  more  than  the  entire  union 
of  soul  with  soul,  —  then  our  love  is  noble,  and  the  being 
of  whom  it  is  the  blossom  must  be  so  likewise.  Such 
love  excites  us  to  virtuous  and  magnanimous  actions ; 
and  many  a  youth  of  amiable  qualities,  but  who  was 
exposed  to  dangers,  has  been  rescued  by  love,  and 
raised  by  it  into  the  sphere  of  beauty  and  nobleness, 
from  that  of  sensual  enjoyments.  In  sexual  love,  now, 
if  it  is  to  be  pure,  love  must  be  the  only  object  desired  ; 
not  money,  — not  mere  external  beauty.  Such  love  will 
desire  its  preservation,  and  this  it  can  obtain  only  by  a 
permanent  union,  which  is  marriage.  Marriage  is  the 
external  representation  of  the  internal  union  produced 
by  love  between  man  and  woman,  and  sanctioned  by  the 
usual  ceremony.  Husband  and  wife  are  truly  one. 
The  interests  and  wishes  of  the  one  are  also  those  of 
the  other.  They  enter  so  wholly  and  entirely  into  each 
others  feelings,  views,  and  desires  that  they  seem  to 
have  but  one  thinking  power.  Genuine  marriage  can- 
not, therefore,  be  produced  by  a  mere  ceremony,  but 
must  have  its  possible  existence  in  love.  Yet  what  is 
once  joined  together,  let  no  man  put  asunder,  and  hence  the 
choice  is  short,  and  the  regret  is  long. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  true  love  renders  monogamy 


44  THE    PENNIMANS  )     OR, 

indispensable,  as  that  polyandry  or  polygamy  are  wholly 
unnatural.  We  can  exchange  our  self  but  once,  and 
receive  but  one  se^in  exchange  for  it.  And  here  is  the 
point,  too,  on  which  it  must  appear  possible  that  love 
may  become  a  passion.  For  as  we  cannot  love  every 
one,  but  must  naturally  be  limited  in  our  choice,  the 
idea  may  take  hold  of  our  mind,  after  we  think  we  have 
found  the  person,  that  he  or  she,  and  no  other  in  the 
world,  is  the  one  whom  we  can  love.  Centering  our 
affections  upon  such,  it  seems  wholly  impossible  to  us 
that  we  should  be  able  to  love  any  other.  If,  now,  im- 
pediments are  thrown  in  our  way,  — if  we  fear  the  loss 
of  one  love,  and  know  that  no  reparation  can  be  made 
to  us,  —  our  love  will  be  changed  into  a  transient  or 
permanent  passion. 

These  impediments  in  the  way  of  love  are  either  ex- 
ternal, or  they  are  contained  in  one  of  the  lovers,  and 
may  be  termed  internal.  The  external  proceed  from 
the  world  around  us,  —  from  its  manners  and  views, — 
from  the  family  spirit,  its  interests,  —  from  laws  and 
prejudices,  and  the  prose  of  life.  The  lovers  think  of 
nothing  but  their  love  ;  they  are  satisfied  with  it.  Yet 
man  is  not  to  live  to  his  feelings  only ;  he  has  duties  to 
perform,  and  to  honor  the  many  relations  in  which  he 
finds  himself.  Thus  a  collision  between  his  love  and  his 
duties  may  easily  take  place.  Among  these  possible 
collisions  none  is  more  frequent  than  that  of  honor. 
This  may  demand  the  resignation  of  love,  merely  be- 
cause the  two  are  not  of  equal  rank.  This  opposition 
will  only  strengthen  the  power  of  love ;  and  instead  of 
yielding  to  the  suggestions  of  honor,  it  becomes  so  irre- 
sistable  as  rather  to  sacrifice  life  than  to  yield  to  any 
obstacles.  Again,  the  will  of  parents,  family  duties, 
duties  towards  the  country,  or  faithfulness  to  a  vow, 
may  interfere  with  love  ;  and  here  again  it  will  become 
passion.  Now,  it  may  be  that  this  passion  overcomes 
all  difficulties,  and  effects  its  final  union,  or  that  the  per- 
son acknowledges  the  power  of  these  objective  rights 
and  duties,  and  struggles  silently  with  himself  and  the 
power  of  his  own  passions.  On  the  latter  passion  the 
play  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  by  Schiller,  rests.  Very 


THE   TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  45, 

often,  as  said  already,  it  is  the  prose  of  life, — intrigue,, 
prejudices,  and  the  like,  that  oppose  love,  determined 
to  destroy  the  fairest  prospects.  In  this  case,  also,  love 
becomes  a  passion,  and  we  ask  every  sacrifice  to -con- 
quer difficulties.  If  the  difficulties  will  not  yield,  if  alL 
daily  grows  darker,  love  may  be  driven  to  suicide,  or 
terminate  in  insanity.  The  internal  impediments  are  al- 
ways to  be  sought  for  in  the  lovers  themselves.  Here  it 
may  be  that  love  on  the  part  of  one  has  never  fully  de- 
veloped itself.  When,  now,  the  other  demands  the  ex- 
clusive possession  of  the  love  of  the  first,  and  when  he 
feels  that  this  is  not  fully  given,  —  that  perhaps  a 
third  receives  as  much  attention  as  himself,  —  he  will 
become  passionate,  and  his  passion  will  be  jealousy.. 
When  love  is  pure  on  both  sides,  all  fear  is  banished.. 
It  is  often  a  feeling  of  weakness,  —  a  feeling  that  we  do- 
not  deserve  the  possession  of  the  love  of  the  other,  that 
causes  this  fear.  So  Othello  is  certain  of  Desdemona's; 
love,  he  fears  nothing.  lago  cannot  succeed,  at  first,, 
in  filling  his  heart  with  suspicion,  until  he  mentions  his; 
age,  his  dark  color,  &c.  From  that  moment  suspicion; 
is  ripe  in  Othello's  breast. 

Love  may  become  a  transient  passion,  when  the  great- 
ness of  the  new  feeling,  the  darkness  of  the  relations 
that  are  yet  indistinct,  the  late  youthful  pride  which  is 
now  to  surrender,  to  confess  itself  conquered,  embar- 
rassed. Love  would  not  betray  itself,  and  betrays  itself 
by  this  very  wish  for  concealment.  It  desires  to  meet 
the  beloved,  and  trembles  or  flees  when  he  or  she  ap- 
proaches. It  seeks  solitude  to  give  free  course  to  its 
tears,  and  keeps  secret  from  others  what  moves  the 
heart.  It  does  not  venture  to  pronounce  the  name,  but 
it  finds  circuitous  routs  to  hear  from  its  beloved  object. 
So  love  may  become  a  transient  passion  in  a  moment, 
when,  after  we  have  secretly  anticipated  a  kind  reception 
from  the  person  in  whom  we  are  interested,  we  receive 
a  distinct  and  marked  sign  of  it,  one  that  can  no  longer 
be  misinterpreted.  The  passion  of  love  is  one  of  the- 
most  painful.  The  object  appears  to  him  who  is  under 
its  influence  as  the  only  possible  one  he  could  choose  ;  at 
certain  fatality,  a  necessity  against  which  he  strives  iii 


46  THE   PENNIMANS;    OR, 

vain,  chains  him  to  this  one,  which  is  in  his  eyes  most 
perfect.  Without  him  or  her  the  passionate  lover  does 
not  expect  to  enjoy  life,  or  to  become  happy  in  any 
way.  Hence  the  most  bitter  feeling  of  an  irreparable 
loss  constantly  agitates  the  breast,  and  presents  nothing 
but  misery.  Love,  as  alluded  to,  may  mitigate  and  even 
expel  other  passions,  but  when  once  a  passion,  it  cannot 
itself  be  rendered  less  strong  by  any  other  inclination. 
It  is  too  certain  of  its  loss  ;  it  feels  that  no  reparation 
can  be  made,  —  that  it  must  carry  its  grief  with  it  for- 
ever. Dante  writes,  in  the  Inferno : 

"  The  soul,  which  is  created  prone  to  love, 

Awakened  into  action  by  delight, 
To  all  that  pleases  doth  obedient  move. 

Your  apprehension  from  some  object  true 
An  image  draws,  unfolding  it  to  sight, 

So  that  the  soul  is  tempted  to  pursue. 
And  if  the  mind  thus  wrought  on  is  inclined, 

That  inclination  is  a  natural  love, 
Newly  produced  by  pleasure  in  your  mind. 

Thus  e'en  as  fire  spontaneous,  mounts  on  high, 
Created  apt  to  raise  itself  above, 

Aud  reach  again  its  store-house  in  the  sky, 
The  soul  so  smitten,  enters  on  desire, 

A  spiritual  motion,  resting  never 
Till  the  beloved  object  it  acquire." 

"It  is  to  Laura,"  said  the  great  Italian,  Petrarch,  "/ 
owe  what  I  am.  Never  should  I  have  obtained  my  pres- 
ent reputation  and  glory  if  the  sentiments  with  which 
she  inspired  me  had  not  raised  those  seeds  of  virtue 
which  nature  had  planted  in  my  soul.  She  drew  me  out 
of  those  snares  and  precipices  into  which  the  ardor  of 
youth  had  plunged  me.  In  fine,  she  pointed  out  my 
road  to  heaven,  and  served  me  as  a  guide  to  pursue 
it." 

The  influence  of  Laura  over  Petrarch,  through  the  in- 
strumentality of  love,  is  among  the  noblest  records  of 
the  human  heart.  This  truly  delightful  sentiment,  when 
properly  considered, — we  mean  the  sentiment  of  love, 
—  is  more  or  less  active  with  all  mankind ;  and  what- 
ever relates  to  it,  in  prose  or  verse,  in  truth  or  fiction, 
hath  a  universal  interest,  more  or  less  marked  in  indi- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GEKIUS.  47 

viduals  as  their  experiences  of  life,  habits  of  thought 
and  action,  have  tended  either  to  refine  and  elevate 
their  moral  faculties,  or  to  sensualize  and  debase  them. 

Willie  Andrews,  like  most  youth  of  his  warm,  impulsive 
nature,  had  no  sooner  parted  with  one  sweetheart  than 
he  availed  of  another.  Nelly  Penniman,  whose  heart  he 
once  possessed,  could  never  again  interest  him.  She 
had  forsaken  him  for  another ;  she  had,  at  the  instiga- 
tion of  her  friends  and  haughty  lover,  ceased  to  notice 
him ;  in  a  word,  she  had  come  to  think  the  Andrews 
family  plebeians,  and  to  regard  all  such  people  with  con- 
tempt. Acquaintances,  to  be  acceptable  to  Miss  Nelly, 
must  have  a  certain  air,  and  live  in  marked  style.  They 
must  derive  their  incomes  from  rent-oppressed  tenants, 
or  through  the  higher  professions,  such  as  preaching  the 
gospel  to  the  rich,  on  a  heavy  salary ;  vending  law,  on 
fat  retainers ;  physic  in  the  same  ratio,  and  merchandiz- 
ing on  an  extensive  scale  of  profits,  derived  through 
salesmen  skilled  in  deception  and  falsehood.  These 
were  the  individuals,  these  the  families  with  whom  the 
Pennimans  might  be  willing  to  associate ;  still,  this  was 
not  all  which  constituted  complete  eligibility  to  the 
society  of  these  people.  There  must  be  ancestry  also,  — 
family ;  yes,  reader,  the  Pennimans  were  republicans, 
but  in  making  acquaintances  their  respect  was  fully 
challenged  only  where  there  was  family.  Yet,  perhaps, 
on  the  score  of  a  truly  honorable  pedigree,  there  was 
no  name  throughout  the  city,  with  any  pretensions  to 
respect,  that  had  less  to  do  with  heraldry.  Yet  the 
Pennimans  had  their  coat  of  arms,  and  talked  much  of 
their  genealogical  tree,  which  through  force  of  imagina- 
tion had  come  to  be  regarded  by  them  as  an  important 
historical  fact.  Their  genealogical  tree  was,  from  root 
to  branch,  an  ordinary  species  of  vegitation,  such  as 
might  be  looked  for  from  the  most  rotten  seed  of  the  old 
English  villainage.  As  to  their  coat  of  arms,  it  was  a 
distinction  which  any  one  may  assume  whose  name,  or 
similarity  of  name,  is  to  be  found  in  heraldry. 

We  have  no  objection  to  either  of  these  honorable  as- 
sociations of  the  past  being  held  in  the  highest  regard, 
by  those  who  have  a  clear  title  to  them.  Indeed,  repub- 


48  THE    PENNIMANS  ;     OR, 

licanism,  and  no  other  ism,  should  be  a  barrier  to  family 
pride  based  upon  an  illustrious  ancestry,  or  one  simply 
honorable  ;  and  if  it  is  asked  what  is  intended  by  simply 
honorable,  we  reply  respectability  and  skill  in  all  indus- 
trial professions,  requiring  more  than  an  average  amount 
of  mind  for  success.  There  is  something  truly  enno- 
bling in  a  rational  attachment  to  the  past,  and  a  love 
for  the  memory  of  those  by  whom  we  are  connected 
with  it ;  and  a  coat  of  arms  when  not  mere  pretence,  a 
genealogical  tree  when  not  a  base  fiction,  should  have  a 
value  to  those  by  whom  they  are  represented  above  all 
price  ;  because  they  are  the  insignia  of  character,  which 
is  priceless. 

Mrs.  Penniman  "  had  married  off  her  daughters,"  as 
the  phrase  is,  "to  please  herself,"  to  gratify  her  ambi- 
tion ;  she  had  given  them  to  individuals  whose  only 
recommendation  was  rich  and  honored  fathers.  Thrown 
upon  their  own  resources,  without  the  adventitious  aids 
of  wealth  the  fruit  of  others  labors,  they  would  have 
found  their  level  far  below  the  condition  of  the  hum- 
blest orders  of  society,  which,  in  their  fancied  superi- 
ority, were  looked  upon  with  ineffable  contempt.  Yet 
these  were  the  individuals  Mrs.  Penniman  had  manoeu- 
vered  and  worked  lustily  to  secure  for  her  fashionable, 
proud,  and  not  any  too  intelligent  daughters  ;  —  these 
were  the  "sprigs  of  aristocracy"  to  whom  such  noble 
and  manly  natures  as  Willie  Andrews  were  to  give 
way. 

The  ambition  in  every  one  to  improve  his  or  her  con- 
dition, either  by  intellectual  training  or  the  aids  of  mar- 
riage alliances,  is  commendable ;  and  all  honorable, 
dignified  means  are  justifiable  to  promote  the  end  ;  but 
where  we  see  unprincipled  women,  wedded  to  men  for 
no  motive  but  ostentation,  deeding  away  their  children 
to  incompetent  characters,  from  false  notions  of  respect- 
ability, we  cannot  but  pity  the  weakness  of  such  pa- 
rents, and  lament  the  fate  of  their  children.  A  "  highly 
respectable  family,"  whatever  its  wealth,  whatever  the 
heroic  deeds  of  its  ancestry,  can  confer,  simply  by  these 
considerations,  no  merit  upon  a  son  or  daughter,  nor  add 
one  particle  to  their  influence  in  the  social  scale,  if  they 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  49 

lack  the  virtues  by  which  their  family  name  was  won, 
namely,  industry,  talents,  or  genius,  courage  and  perse- 
verance. Persons  whose  importance  rests  almost  en- 
tirely on  "style,"  and  the  parade  of  wealth  generally, 
not  feeling  at  all  satisfied  with  their  genealogical  tree, 
seek  to  make  up  this  deficiency,  and  thus  to  establish  a 
harmonious  whole.  Thus  Mrs.  Penniman  came  to  en- 
courage the  attentions  of  young  men  to  her  daughters 
who  were,  in  her  estimation,  calculated  to  improve  the 
Penniman  breed  ;  but  before  our  tale  shall  be  ended,  we 
shall  see  how  false  are  such  ideas,  and  ruinous  to  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  those  who  are  their  victims. 

With  women  of  Mrs.  Penniman's  cast  of  mind,  love  is 
a  fable ;  ambition  and  a  desire  of  ostentation  lay  waste 
their  hearts  ;  there  is  nothing  in  life  which  interests  them 
but  clap-trap,  ceremony,  humbug,  and  pretension.  They 
do  not  know  what  power  a  noble  nature  has  to  attach 
to  it  its  species,  —  even  the  humblest  of  servants  to  its 
interest.  Devoid  of  all  generous  impulse  themselves, 
they  think  mankind  without  a  heart,  without  a  con- 
science, and  without  a  God ! 


CHAPTER    V. 


Without  connubial  Juno's  aid  they  wed  ; 
Nor  Hymen  nor  the  Graces  bless  the  bed. 

***** 
But,  0  !  revenge  is  sweet  -- 
Thus  think  the  crowd,  who  eager  to  engage, 
Take  quickly  fire,  and  kindle  into  rage." 


THE  Pennimans  were  preparing  for  a  grand  ball,  to  be 
given  in  honor  of  their  daughter's  nuptials,  previous  to 
her  departure  to  Europe,  in  company  with  her  liege  lord, 
McAlpine.  They  were  about  to  be  tied  together  at  one 
of  the  fashionable  churches,  where  the  pulpit  is  gagged 
by  the  pride  of  wealth  suspended  over  it  in  terrorem. 
A  person  was  stationed  at  the  door  to  keep  out  all  those 
who  were  not  of  the  **  F.  F.  V.,"  —  a  hard  visaged, 
brawny  hackman,  who  had  been  long  employed  to 
wheel  about  these  "  sumptuous  bodies."  It  was  to  be  a 
very  exclusive,  private,  aristocratic  affair,  —  a  tempest- 
in-a-tea-pot  sort  of  a  doing,  at  which  all  sensible  people 
laughed,  and  the  angels  wept. 

There  were  a  number  gathered  about  the  church, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  bride  and  groom,  since  having 
been  denied  the  privilege  of  entrance  within,  they  were 
determined  to  have  a  "good  look"  without.  The  two 
popinjays  who  were  stationed  in  the  entry  of  the  splendid 
church,  now  and  then  pulled  open  the  door,  impatient 
at  the  long  delay  of  the  lovely  twain  that  were  to  be 
made  one  flesh.  Casting  a  contemptuous  stare  at  the 
persons  in  waiting  without,  they  shut  the  door  with  an 
angry  air,  that  the  mob,  the  canaille,  should  manifest  any 
interest  whatever  in  their  matters.  After  the  patience 
of  nearly  every  body  had  been  exhausted,  not  except- 
ing the  meek-looking,  clean-shaved  minister,  a  private 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  51 

carriage  was  driven  up  to  the  church,  freighted  with  the 
anxiously  expected  couple.  The  crowd  pressed  around 
it,  only  the  more  desirous  to  see  what  apparently  was  so 
precious  ;  and  when  McAlpine  and  his  lady  alighted 
there  was  quite  a  titter  among  some  of  the  bystanders, 
who  were  pretty  keen  witted,  that  a  boy  and  a  girj,  with 
nothing  to  boast  of  but  gayly  decked  persons,  should 
draw  together  such  an  audience.  McAlpine  was  a  sap, 
and  his  betrothed  was  only  too  well  suited  to  his  cali- 
ber. 

Willie  Andrews  had  many  friends  and  acquaintances, 
all  of  whom  were  aware  of  the  circumstance  of  his  dis- 
missal, and  many  of  whom  had  come  to  the  church, 
through  curiosity  to  see  the  "  gay  gallant,"  who  had 
found  so  much  favor  with  this  child  and  daughter  of 
mammon ;  but  neither  Willie  nor  Ida  were  there.  It 
was  an  affair  which  had  no  interest  to  them,  and  there- 
fore they  gave  it  no  thought. 

As  Nelly  stepped  from  the  carriage,  supported  by  the 
gloved  hand  of  her  lover,  there  was  an  evident  embar- 
rassment, and  the  lively  red  of  her  cheeks  gave  place  to 
a  striking  pallor.  McAlpine  was  by  no  means  as  self- 
possessed  as  the  occasion  required.  It  was  evident  they 
were  not  prepared  for  such  a  demonstration  of  curiosity, 
on  the  part  of  those  "  vile  creatures,"  whom  they  were 
only  too  well  pleased  -to  term  the  rabble. 

The  dress  of  the  bride  was  an  expensive  white  satin, 
over  which  was  a  skirt  of  superb  thread-lace.  In  passing 
from  the  carriage,  the  garment  was  caught  by  the  door, 
on  observing  which  a  fellow  with  hands  soiled  with  lamp- 
black, perhaps  with  a  good  motive,  at  once  seized  the 
dress  and  disengaged  it  from  the  carriage,  leaving  the 
imprint  of  his  dirty  member  on  the  magnificent  rig  out, 
much  to  the  horror  of  the  bride,  whose  emotions  were 
too  intense  for  concealment.  She  looked  at  him  with 
the  most  ineffable  disgust,  in  which  she  was  joined  by 
the  groom  and  the  two  popinjays  to  whom  we  have  re- 
ferred, who  were  acting  in  the  capacity  of  grooms-men, 
and  had  made  their  appearance  from  the  church  just  a 
moment  too  late  to  save  the  bride  this  unspeakable 
mortification.  But  the  scene  was  not  yet  quite  finished  ; 


52  THE    PENKIMANS  |    OB, 

for  as  she  passed  from  the  side-walk,  resting  on  the  arm 
of  her  adored  Apollo,  a  Mercury  stood  by,  commissioned 
from  the  gods,  to  whisper  in  her  ear  that  in  this  mar- 
riage she  should  be  damned  !  That  Mercury  was  a 
young  man,  with  a  dark,  flashing  eye,  and  an  impetuous 
spirit,  a  friend  of  Willie  Andrews.  He  had  no  sooner 
startled  Nelly  with  her  fate,  than  he  darted  from  the 
crowd,  and  was  seen  no  more.  The  bride's  heart  had 
been  pierced  with  a  poisoned  arrow,  and  she  walked  to 
the  altar  as  though  going  to  the  Guillotine. 

There  are  many  such  marriages  in  this  sublunary 
sphere,  and  will  continue  to  be,  we  presume,  to  the  end 
of  time,  if  such  an  event  is  supposable.  We  have  a  sin- 
cere pity  for  all  those  poor  unfortunates  who  are  united 
to  each  other  in  the  holy  bonds  of  wedlock,  without  a 
right  understanding  of  life,  or  the  obligations  of  mar- 
riage ;  and  we  heartily  wish  there  might  exist  among 
parents,  a  better  judgment  than  to  make  matches  from 
motives  of  pride,  that  must  entail  a  train  of  evils  upon 
their  offspring,  to  end  either  in  insanity  or  suicide.  It 
is  natural  for  those  who  are  wealthy,to  desire  that  their 
children  should  be  so  disposed  of  as  to  make  sure  of 
a  continuance  of  their  positions,  which  a  handsome  in- 
come seems  to  command.  But,  however  natural  this 
feeling  may  be,  it  unquestionably  is  fruitful  of  great  and 
irreparable  error.  But  little  can  be  known,  with  any 
degree  of  certainty,  however  well  educated  and  well- 
born a  young  man  may  be,  of  his  fitness  for  the  dis- 
charge of  the  duties  of  married  life  before  he  is  twenty- 
seven  and  thirty ;  and  most  inperfect  are  a  woman's 
views  of  such  responsibilities  until  she  is  twenty-two 
and  three  ;  yet  how  anxious  very  many  mothers  are,  and 
sensible  ones  too,  to  marry  off  their  daughters,  —  to  see 
them  "nicely  settled  in  life,"  before  they  are  in  any  re- 
spect able  to  form  an  intelligent  opinion  as  to  whether 
it  is  for  their  happiness  to  marry  or  not  1  And  how 
eager  are  very  many  young  men  to  engage  the  affections 
of  young  ladies,  without  for  a  moment  realizing  the 
never-ceasing  responsibilities  they  assume,  which,  as 
time  passes,  and  those  on  whom  they  have  depended 
drop  off  into  the  grave,  only  increase  in  weight  and  ap- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  53 

pall  by  their  fully  disclosed  magnitude.  Early  marriages, 
when  not  based  on  the  most  decided  and  unequivocal 
merit,  are  much  to  be  deplored.  It  was  very  well  that 
the  Pennimans'  pride  and  vanity  should  be  gratified  by 
marrying  their  daughter  into  the  McAlpine  family  ;  but 
much  better  would  it  be  for  that  daughter  if,  instead  of 
this  shallow-pated  McAlpine,  she  had  been  encouraged 
to  unite  with  some  one  who  had  a  reliable  wit,  even 
though  not  of  a  "  first  family/'  Nothing  is  more  absurd, 
reprehensible,  and  criminal,  for  which  divine  justice 
always  has  a  severe  punishment,  than  those  "marriages 
in  high  life"  which  are  brought  about  by  a  shameless, 
heartless  pride,  with  no  other  motive  and  for  no  other 
reason  than  to  sustain  a  certain  luxurious  mode  of  living, 
which  is  deemed  indispensable  to  haut  ton,  —  "  first  re- 
spectability." These  ideas  are  a  sheer  delusion,  and 
they  who  are  duped  by  them  in  the  morning  of  life,  alas  ! 
weep  through  the  noon  and  evening  of  their  days  to 
little  purpose.  McAlpine  and  Nelly  were  joined  to- 
gether by  the  clergyman,  and  the  twain  that  had  been 
made  one  flesh  retraced  their  steps  to  the  carriage.  As 
Nelly  passed  from  the  church,  she  was  observed  to  be 
in  tears,  and  the  dark  imprint  of  the  lamp-black  hand 
seemed  darker  than  ever.  So  a  day  of  promised  joy 
was  turned  into  one  of  sorrow,  and  all,  instead  of  going 
merry  as  a  marriage  bell,  went  doleful  as  a  funeral  dirge. 
Mrs.'Penniman  "looked  wrath  itself,"  and  as  she  passed 
from  the  church,  her  head  tossed  high,  through  the  crowd, 
into  her  carriage,  old  Penniman  trotting  after,  with  his 
meager,  base-spirited  phiz  bent  downward,  there  was  in 
the  countenances  of  the  persons  around  a  marked  satis- 
faction, that  snobbery  was  so  much  annoyed.  When 
persons  go  into  public  places,  and  carry  with  them  their 
absurdities,  they  must  expect  little  favor  from  the  matter 
of  fact  and  common  sense  characters  of  every  day  life  ; 
and  especially  when  it  is  sought  to  apply  the  rule  of 
exclusiveness  to  a  marriage  in  a  place  of  public  wor- 
ship ! 

We  have  said  the  Pennimans  were  preparing  for 
a  ball,  to  be  given  in  honor  of  the  newly-married  pair. 
As  is  customary  with  those  who  can  afford  it,  McAlpine 


54  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

and  his  bride  had  left  the  city  for  a  brief  journey,  and 
the  ball  was  to  take  place  immediately  on  their  return. 

Mrs.  Penniman  and  her  daughters,  were  seated  to- 
gether in  the  basement  of  their  mansion,  one  rainy  day, 
talking  over  this  grand  affair,  and  were  making  up  a  list 
of  those  "  persons  whom  it  would  be  proper  to  invite  ;" 
for  it  was  a  matter  of  great  importance  that  the  company 
should  not  be  at  all  "mixed."  Mrs.  Penniman  had  the 
most  profound  disgust,  and  so  too  had  her  daughters,  for 
all  individuals  not  quite  up  to  their  level. 

The  Pennimans,  in  common  with  all  persons  who 
would  appear  to  be  more  than  what  they  really  are, 
had  a  library  of  well-assorted  and  handsomely  bound 
books,  the  contents  of  which,  however,  was  imperfectly, 
or  not  known  at  all  to  any  of  them.  This  is  quite  usual 
among  snobs.  They  do  everything  for  effect.  How  ad- 
mirably has  Juvenal  hit  off  this  contemptible  class  of 
pretenders  : 

"  Devoid  of  knowledge,  as  of  worth,  they  thrust, 
In  every  nook,  some  philosophic  bust  ; 
For  he  among  them  counts  himself  most  wise 
Who  most  old  sages  of  the  sculptor  buys  ; 
Sets  most  true  Zenos'  or  Cleanthes'  heads, 
To  guard  the  volumes  which  he  never  reads," 

These  vain  and  foolish  women  continued  discussing  the 
merits  of  their  acquaintances,  throwing  out  such  as  were 
no  longer  desirable,  until  the  list  of  the  company  was 
completed.  This  was  no  easy  task  ;  but  by  the  united 
energies  of  the  Pennimans  and  a  rainy  day  it  was  carried 
through  with  no  inconsiderable  despatch.  Then  came 
the  writing  of  the  invitations,  or  rather  the  filling  out  of 
the  blanks  (for  they  were  neatly  printed),  and  addressing 
the  same  to  the  various  guests,  which  done,  the  invita- 
tions were  placed  in  a  neat  basket,  and  given  to  the  ser- 
vant-man to  distribute. 

"  The  Pennimans  are  to  give  a  ball,"  was  the  salu- 
tation of  those  idle  women  who  were  thought  worthy 
to  be  entered  on  the  list,  as  they  met  each  other  in  the 
saloons  of  fashion,  or  upon  the  street," the  following  day. 
A  ball  among  this  class  is  quite  an  item,  and  the  specu- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  55 

lations  as  to  the  manner  in  which  it  will  be  conducted, 
and  the  good  cheer  and  good  fortune  which  may  result 
from  it,  are  as  wild  as  they  are  various  and  exciting.  A 
marriageable  lady  scarcely  ever  prepares  for  a  select  ball 
or  party  without  in  a  measure  preparing  for  a  husband  ; 
and  she  continues  in  society,  with  this  object  in  view, 
until  crowded  out  by  the  fresher  and  superior  charms  of 
the  youthful  maiden.  Our  streets  are  filled  with  these 
hopeless  creatures,  who, through  their  prime  entertained 
such  haughty  and  absurd  notions  of  life,that  men  who 
could  at  all  endure  celibacy  were  unwilling  to  take  upon 
themselves  the  care  of  worthless  and  inconsiderate  wo- 
men, bloated  with  pride,  and  crammed  with  a  class  of 
notions  which  are  as  foreign  to  sterling  common  sense 
as  atheism  is  to  Christianity ! 

This  world  of  ours  is  an  exceedingly  practical  one,  in 
which  a  good  sound  education,  with  correct  views  of 
life,  is  of  the  greatest  possible  advantage,  and  without 
which  there  is  little  or  no  chance  of  encountering  "  the 
ills  which  flesh  is  heir  to  "  with  any  degree  of  fortitude 
or  endurance.  Thus  it  is  that  women  who  have  set  their 
hopes  on  securing  a  husband,  aud  have  given  their 
lives  to  this  one  idea,  failing  to  realize  their  expecta- 
tions, become  down-hearted,  imbittered,  and  at  war  with 
themselves  and  mankind.  Thus  it  is  that  they  become 
those  "  detestable  old  maids  "  whom  everybody  avoids, 
at  all  times,  and  in  all  places. 

The  Pennimans7  ball  I  It  was  to  be  a  grand  affair,  in 
which  snobbery,  genuine  worth,  and  eminent  learning 
were  to  be  huddled  together ;  —  it  was  to  be  a  hotch- 
potch affair,  after  all,  notwithstanding  Madame  Penniman 
and  her  butterfly  daughters  were  at  the  head  of  it  They 
did  not  intend  to  have  a  "  mixed  company,"  and  yet  it 
would  be  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  greater  disparity  of 
intelligence  than  was  gathered  together.  For  instance, 
there  were  the  learned  professors  of  Harvard,  beside 
the  rag-dealers  of  Milk  and  Kilby  Streets,  with  their 
full-feathered  wives  and  daughters,  "  dressed  to  kill," 
and  set  off  with  an  air  of  marked  quality.  Then,  there 
were  dealers  in  hard-ware,  with  vulgar  looking  wives 
in  spectacles,  boring  the  Hon.  So-and-so,  M.  C.,  with  his 


56  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

family,  full  of  legal  lore  and  classical  attainments.  And 
there,  also,  were  men  on  the  wharves  (who  contract  for 
clipper  craft),  and  their  families,  hedged  in  with  poetical 
genius,  that  regards  such  persons  and  their  sordid  pur- 
suits with  the  most  unspeakable  disgust.  Then,  too, 
there  were  lawyers,  in  close  proximity  to  tradesmen 
whom  they  had  pleaded  successfully  against,  for  which 
they  were  soundly  hated.  And  doctors,  too,  were  there, 
who  had  lost  patients  through  stupidity,  as  was  be- 
lieved by  their  relatives,  near  to  whom  "  these  ignorant 
doctors  "  were  now  standing.  Such  a  medley  of  discord- 
ant elements  of  social  life  it  would  be  impossible  to 
describe  fully  and  graphically,  without  more  pains  and 
labor  than  we  are  willing  to  invest  in  this  chapter. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  "  Tom,  Dick,  and  the  Devil "  were 
there,  and  that  fashion  with  rampant.  This  one's  rep- 
utation for  learning  was  only  subject  for  spleen  and 
spite,  with  those  who  lacked  lore ;  this  one's  youthful 
bloom  and  beauty  was  only  an  unbearable  reflection  on 
that  one's  musty  maidenhood  and  faded  cheek.  These 
contrasts  were  felt  most  keenly  and  bitterly ;  the  pas- 
sions were  let  loose,  and  back-biting  began  in  good 
earnest.  The  wits,  with  his  or  her  fund  of  good  sense, 
were  not  slow  to  detect  the  brainless  upstarts  who  came 
in  their  way,  and  in  a  quiet  manner  cracked  their  jokes 
and  laughed  at  snobbery,  at  the  head  of  which  were  the 
Pennimans. 

It  was  an  expensive  affair,  this  ball,  being  in  all  re- 
spects a  model  one.  The  dancing  was  continued  until 
twelve  o'clock,  when  supper  was  announced,  to  which 
the  company  marched  in  single  file,  to  exquisite  music. 
All  appeared  blessed  with  excellent  appetites,  and  soon 
made  way  with  a  most  sumptuous  supper.  Young  la- 
dies ate  as  though  they  had  been  fasting  for  a  tweve- 
_ month,  and  mothers  and  fathers  "fairly  shovelled  into 
their  corporosities "  the  good  things  set  before  them." 
Gluttony  seemed  to  have  seized  on  all,  and  the  struggle 
appeared  to  be  which  of  the  company  could  devour  the 
most  food  in  a  given  time.  With  such  an  ambition  an- 
imating all  of  these  fashionable  cormorants,  it  is  not  a 
matter  of  surprise  that  the  table  was  in  a  short  time 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  57 

cleared  of  all  edibles  ;  nor  is  it  a  matter  of  surprise  either 
that  some  of  the  company,  who  were  more  partial  to 
wine  than  a  strict  regard  to  decency  would  allow,  got 
into  a  condition  which  rendered  a  carriage  and  home 
necessary. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  The  more  I  honor  thee  the  less  I  love." 

WILLIE  ANDREWS  had  loved,  we  have  said,  Nelly  Pen- 
niman ;  .but  it  was  not  a  perfect  love  ;  for  "  here  on 
earth,"  says  the  German  philosopher,  Muller,  brother 
of  the  celebrated  Greek  scholar  and  archaeologist,  "  here 
on  earth  love  can  never  have  an  unchangeable  home  in 
our  hearts,  but  only  sometimes  come  to  us  as  a  transient 
visitor.  These  are  only  inspired  moments,  when  our 
soul  is  all  devotion,  and  self-denial,  and  self-sacrifice  ; 
when  we  are  ready  to  live  for  our  neighbors,  even  if 
they,  with  coldness  and  enmity,  turn  away  from  us. 
Simple  beams  of  heavenly  light  are  they  which  fall  into 
the  dusk  of  our  earthly  life,  exulting,  quickening, 
strengthening.  But  we  are  still  too  weak,  too  earthly, 
to  hold  them  fast  in  their  entire  purity  and  clearness. 
There  is  something  ever  within  us  that  strives  against 
them  ;  and  from  without,  the  want  of  love,  —  the  injus- 
tice and  hatred  of  other  men,  —  ever  anew  awaken  self- 
ish impulses  in  our  soul.  Our  love  is  not  yet  perfect ; 
and  so  there  ever  remains  in  our  heart  the  remnants  of 
selfish  fear  and  sorrow." 

Willie,  perhaps,  was  too  young  to  have  conceived  a 
true  passion  for  Miss  Penniman  ;  but  whatever  the  feel- 
ing may  have  been,  it  was  now  changed  for  that  of  con- 
tempt. She  had  abandoned  him  ;  Willie's  pride  was 
touched ;  he  would  not  overlook,  forgive  the  insult.  He 
had  many  schemes  of  vengeance  ;  first,  he  resolved  on 
attacking  McAlpine  in  the  street,  and  inflicting  corporal 
punishment ;  then  he  thought  he  would  shoot  him  ;  then, 
that  as  the  Pennimans  were  most  to  blame  they  ought 
to  be  punished  likewise.  He  would  concoct  a  satire  on 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  59 

the  family,  and  give  it  to  the  press.  His  head  was  full 
of  plans  of  revenge,  and  his  heart  was  eager  for  their 
execution.  His  father,  however,  was  a  man  of  great 
gravity  ;  he  had  studied  life  with  care,  and  learned  many 
lessons  in  wisdom.  He  advised  his  son  to"  prudence,  and 
succeeded  finally  in  persuading  him  to  let  the  insult  pass 
unnoticed,  as  coming  from  those  whose  pretensions  were 
disgusting,  and  whose  respectability  was  mere  assump- 
tion. "  Let  your  life,  my  noble  boy,"  said  his  father, 
—  let  your  life,  your  goodness,  and  virtue,  be  your  re- 
venge. Go  on  with  a  thorough  intellectual  training, 
aspire  to  become  a  man  of  influence;  and  when  you  have 
won  for  yourself  a  position,  let  the  world  see,  and  the 
Pennimans  in  particular,  that  the  insult  offered  to  your 
youth  has  been  wiped  away  by  the  glory  of  your  man- 
hood. Make  them  to  feel  you  were  never  their  inferior, 
and  that  the  name  of  Andrews,  as  borne  by  you,  hath  a 
respect  paid  it  which  neither  the  name  nor  the  gold  of 
the  whole  race  of  Pennimans  could  confer.  Be  this  the 
object  of  your  life  ;  struggle  manfully  to  obtain  it,  and  a 
vengeance  is  yours  more  galling  to  these  proud,  God- 
defying  people,  than  aught  you  could  possibly  do  by 
street  attack  or  satire." 

The  boy  loved  his  father,  and  held  in  high  respect 
his  counsels.  He  accepted  his  advice  on  this  occasion ; 
he  resolved  to  leave  to  the  future  and  the  out-working 
of  his  character,  the  measure  of  revenge.  The  place 
which  Nelly  Penniman  had  filled  in  his  bosom  was  now 
occupied  by  the  tender  love  of  the  sweet  girl  who  was 
with  him  at  the  death-bed  of  Throckmorton.  She  was, 
as  we  have  said  in  a  previous  chapter,  the  daughter  of 
a  tradesman  of  considerable  means  and  of  liberal  culture, 
and  was  being  well  educated.  She  was  a  beautiful  and 
graceful  girl,  with  a  mind  somewhat  partial  to  knowledge, 
and  a  most  correct  taste  for  art,  which  she  had  inherited 
from  her  father.  She  had  no  genius,  but  simply  taste. 
Willie  admired  her  as  a  critic,  and  she  loved  him  as  a 
power.  Her  name  was  Ida  Robertson.  There  were 
no  points  of  resemblance  between  Ida  and  Nelly  Penni- 
man, save  in  their  beauty  and  grace  ;  yet  the  beauty  and  , 
grace  of  each  were  of  a  different  character.  Nelly  was  a 


60  THE   PEXNIMAN3  *,     OB, 

blond  ;  Ida  was  a  brunette.  Nelly's  figure  was  full  and 
rounded ;  Ida's  was  spare  and  sharp.  Their  tempera- 
ments were  quite  opposite.  Nelly  was  all  impulse  ;  Ida 
was  all  thought  and  deliberation.  One  was  nervous  — 
sanguine  ;  the  other  was  bilious  and  phlegmatic.  But 
if  Ida  was  an  icicle  by  nature,  as  that  nature  appeared 
to  society,  she  was  warm  in  the  expression  of  her  pas- 
sion for  young  Andrews.  Apparently  they  had  realized 
that  strange,  mysterious  impression,  one  of  the  other, 
which  in  early  life  too  often  hurries  us  on  to  responsi- 
bilities and  duties  for  which  we  are  totally  unfitted. 
Love  thus  proves  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  instead  of  a 
source  of  peace,  of  comfort,  and  of  joy. 

These  two  young  and  hopeful  beings  were  at  a  period  of 
life  when  thoughts  are  bright  and  glowing  —  when  little  can 
be  known  of  what  the  future  may  reveal  of  character.  In 
their  dreams  they  seemed  to  be  under  the  spell  of  a  perfect 
bliss,  without  a  disturbing  thought.  Thus  Willie  and  Ida 
loved ;  —  yet,  as  he  was  an  earnest  student,  and  a  deep 
thinker,  his  mind  was  far  less  embarrassed  with  the  "  dread 
realities  of  life  "  than  was  his  companion's.  His  fancy  was 
active,  avid  his  reason  sound. 

Ida  was  still  at  school ;  soon,  however,  to  terminate 
these  irksome  years.  Willie  was  earning  a  salary  of 
five  hundred  dollars  per  year,  as  bookkeeper  in  a  large 
wholesale  dry-goods  establishment,  employing  all  his 
leisure  time  in  the  study  of  the  fine  arts.  He  was  a 
clever  musician,  painted  well,  wrote  very  taking  poetry, 
and  was  not  without  a  skilful  hand  at  sculpture.  His 
head  was  of  classic  form  ;  his  eye  of  a  deep,  searching 
blue  ;  his  hair  well  off  the  forehead,  which  was  prominent 
and  full ;  his  complexion  was  clear,  and  "  sicklied  o'er 
with  the  pale  cast  of  thought."  There  was  an  earnest- 
ness in  the  play  of  his  features,  coupled  with  great  nerv- 
ous irritability,  which  distinguished  him  as  one  of  an 
eccentric  nature.  He  rarely  conversed  with  freedom  ; 
but  when  in  the  company  of  artists,  or  their  patrons 
who  were  disposed  to  be  a  little  bending,  his  mind  gave 
out  its  thoughts,  unchecked  by  any  of  that  caution  and 
reserve  which  it  practised  in  the  society  of  those  to 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  61 

whom  art  was  a  blank,  and  artists  persons  of  inconsid- 
erable consequence.  With  Ida  he  was  at  times  most  so- 
ciable, but  often  days  passed  without  more  than  the  com- 
mon courtesies  of  life  being  exchanged.  It  was  at  such 
tim.es  that  his  soul  was  busy  with  its  dreams  of  fame. 
What  they  might  be  Ida  could  as  yet  only  conjecture  ; 
for  Willie  never  permitted  himself,  even  to  her,  to  speak 
of  the  high  hopes  within  him.  He  was  ambitious,  and 
this  he  endeavored  not  to  conceal ;  but  that  which  he 
meditated  in  the  future  was  a  ^secret  between  his  God 
and  himself. 

It  was  evening.  Ida  and  Willie  sat  alone  in  the 
library  of  her  father's  house,  which  was  located  in  the 
neighborhood,  as  we  have  before  said,  of  the  Andrews. 
The  girl  was  embroidering  a  handkerchief;  the  youth 
was  seated  at  the  table,  by  her  side,  playing  with  her 
hair. 

"A  sad  duty  indeed  it  is  to  speak  anything  that 
pains  so  sweet  and  gentle  a  friend,"  remarked  Willie  ; 
"yet  it  is  proper  we  should  understand  each  other 
perfectly ;  and  that  there  may  be  no  misapprehension 
of  my  meaning,  I  will  be  plain.  I  have  said  I  can- 
not love  you  as  I  ought.  Now,  a  man's  love  for  a 
woman  whom  he  may  intend  to  make  his  wife  should  be 
so  potent  as  to  seize  upon  his  mind,  and  keep  it  in  con- 
tinual subjection  to  this  passion.  This  is  not  so  with  my 
love  for  you  That  is,  I  do  not  regard  you  and  your  so- 
ciety as  all-sufficient  for  my  happiness.  There  is  that 
within  me  which  I  must  develop,  —  powers  the  bare  pos- 
session of  which  do  make  a  volcano  of  my  soul.  Aly 
mind  centers  on  itself,  and  all  without  are  but  as  means 
to  its  advancement.  You  do  not  appear  to  feel  with  or 
to  comprehend  me.  I  cannot  say  your  love  makes  me 
happy,  because  my  happiness  is  in  nature,  and  in  the 
unfolding  of  my  faculties.  You  are  sensual,  and  would 
have  me  so  too.  You  point  to  riches,  and  bid  me  waste 
a  precious  life  in  growing  rich.  Now,  money  to  me  hath 
no  value  beyond  what  it  can  purchase  to  satisfy  reason- 
able wants,  —  no  value  whatever.  I  hate  wealth  wher- 
ever I  see  it,  when  I  reflect  that  it  may  have  been 
acquired  by  downright  knavery. 


2  THE    PENNIMAN3  J     OR, 

"  You  are  always  reflecting,"  rejoined  Ida.  "  I  never 
saw  such  a  peculiar  being.  And  what  pains  me  deeply  is, 
your  reflections  are  not  always  just.  You  do  not  know  how 
sad  I  sometimes  am,  and  this  too  when  you  think  me  happy. 
Oh,  my  dear  friend,  why  are  you  so  strange  —  so  metaphy- 
sical, so  unkind,  so  forever  different  to  what  I  would  have 
you.  Do  be  more  practical,  more  like  other  people.  Your 
mind  seems  wayward,  indeed,  to.  me  ;  if  you  ever  loved  me, 
you  would  love  me  still.  A  true  and  deep  affection  is  not 
so  easily  turned  from  its  course.  You  certainly  have  made 
many  protestations  of  your  attachment,  and  I  have  thought 
you  sincere.  Ah,  how  foolish  was  I.  You  say  I  am  sensual, 
and  would  have  you  become  so  likewise,  because  I  would 
direct  your  ambition  to  mercantile  pursuits.  If  to  be 
sensual  is  to  desire  the  position  wealth  commands,  —  to 
desire  that  power  which  enables  one  to  do  so  much  good, 
—  to  dispense  so  many  blessings  among  the  poor,  then 
I  confess  I  am  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  sensuality, 
not  else.  Money  I  never  did  esteem  for  vanity's  sake, 
—  for  mere  display.  No,  no,  God  knows  my  heart;  he 
knows  I  speak  truly." 

"  She  is  cunning,  very  cunning,"  mentally  said  Wil- 
lie. "  She  may  love  money  for  charity's  sake,  but  she 
loves  it  much  better  for  her  own.  You  don't  understand, 
you  never  will  understand  me,"  continued  he  aloud;  "it 
is  not  wealth  I  declaim  against ;  it  is  the  getting  of  it, 
the  vile  influences  of  the  Exchange,  upon  which  I  make 
war.  Suppose  I  should  act  on  your  suggestion,  and 
apply  myself  to  money-making,  and  successfully,  let  us 
presume ;  think  you  I  could  escape  the  moral  degradation 
of  so  base  a  pursuit  ?  Think  you  as  a  merchant  I  should 
not  sink  into  a  trickster  ?  Would  my  energies  once 
fairly  given  over  to  traffic  be  checked  in  their  operation 
by  any  too  tender  a  conscience  ?  Should  I  not  degenerate 
into  the  cold-blooded,  heartless  Jew,  insisting  on  the 
pound  of  flesh  ?  The  noblest  natures  have  fallen  thus, 
and  why  not  I  ?  Think  of  the  firm  with  whom  I  am  act- 
ing as  confidential  clerk.  There  is  none  in  this  city  of 
higher  standing.  Their  credit  is  unlimited ;  they  are 
believed  to  be  high-minded,  truthful  men ;  yet  I,  who 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  63 

\ 

know  them  better  than  the  world,  would  not  believe 
them  on  oath,  where  their  own  interest  was  involved ; 
no,  not  upon  their  oath.  This  seems  to  amaze  you. 
Astonishing  as  it  may  appear,  I  tell  you  none  who  com- 
pose this  generally  respected  firm,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
great  credit,  are,  strictly  speaking,  honest  men  ;  and  as 
for  their  hearts,  they  have  no  feeling  for  anybody's 
interest  save  their  own." 

"  I  am  indeed  surprised,"  rejoined  Ida,  looking  in- 
tently at  Willie. 

"  That  you  may  be,"  rejoined  the  young  man,  "and 
with  good  reason.  Honesty  is  rarely  found  among 
trades-people,  and  when  it  is  —  seldom  riches.  To  get 
rich  is  to  become  demoralized,  devilish,  as  a  rule,  to 
which  the  exceptions  are  too,  too  few.  Is  not  the 
Bible  uncompromising  in  its  condemnation  of  riches?  " 

"  Indeed,  Willie,  you  maintain  your  position  with  a 
good  deal  of  skill,"  returned  Ida.  "  1  had  not  sup- 
posed the  getting  of  a  fortune  was  so  opposed  to  virtue, 
necessarily." 

"  You  speak  now  as  one  informed,"  rejoined  Willie  ; 
"  as  one  who  sees  somewhat  of  the  truth.  Now,  since 
you  understand  that  it  is  not  the  possession  of  wealth  I 
decry,  but  the  mean  practices  of  the  Exchange  in  its  ac- 
quirement, you  will  better  appreciate  my  love  of  study, 
—  my  passion  for  the  beautiful  and  true,  as  embodied  in 
the  fine  arts." 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  rejoined  Ida  ;  "  I  begin  to  understand 
you  better ;  I  begin  to  see  by  a  clearer  light.  Forgive 
me,  Willie,  that  1  should  so  disturb  you." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  Would,  oh,  would  that  I 
could  feel  you  understood  me  fully ! "  returned  Andrews, 
pausing.  "  In  time,  in  time  you  may." 

"  In  time,  love,  I  shall,"  rejoined  Ida,  throwing  much 
tenderness  into  her  voice,  apparently  intent  upon  her 
sewing.  "  You  shall  be  my  study ;  I  will  yet  be  worthy 
of  your  confidence." 

"  Whoever  you  marry  should  be  a  man  adapted  to 
your  necessities.  Am  I  that  man  ?  I  fear  not."  As 
he  concluded,  he  looked  at  her,  with  a  somber  brow. 

"  Explain,  I  beg  of  you,"  returned  Ida.     "Why  may  I 


64  THE    PENNIMAtfS  ',     OR, 

not  be  happy  in  your  love  ?  Why  are  you  not  adapted 
to  my  heart  ?  " 

"  Youfheart  needs  a  heart  all  devotion  ! "  replied  the 
youth  ;  "it  dallies  with  your  mind.  Mine,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  absorbed  by  thought,  fixing  itself  on  the  uni- 
verse. I  have  ho  time  for  these  endearments ;  indeed 
no  inclination  which  one  of  your  nature  would  expect  in 
a  husband.  To  you  I  should  seem  cold  and  neglectful, 
because  your  existence  would  be  absorbed  in  that  of  all 
beauty  and  perfection.  I  should  not  be  drawn  to  you 
any  more  than  I  would  to  any  other  combination  of 
loveliness  in  nature.  This  might  imbitter  your  life.  You 
would  feel,  perhaps,  you  had  not  that  empire  or  ascend- 
ency over  my  being  which  a  fond  wife  claims.  Now,  be 
candid  ;  would  not  this  be  as  I  have  stated  ?" 

"  In  truth,  sir,  could  I  but  know  I  am  all  you  desire  in 
woman  as  a  wife,  I  should  never  feel  or  complain  of 
neglect,"  returned  Ida,  tenderly  ;  "  and  what  to  others 
might  seem  like  indifference  would  be  to  me  explained 
by  the  all-engrossing  habits  of  your  mind." 

"  Well  spoken,  well  spoken,"  rejoined  Willie.  "  As 
to  my  love  for  you,  Ida,  I  cannot  doubt  of  its  durabil- 
ity ;  but  that  you  are  all  I  might  desire  in  a  wife  is  past 
my  power  at  present  to  determine.  Let  us,  therefore, 
wait  the  decision  of  time,  living  and  loving  each  other 
as  friends." 

Just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Andrews  entered  the  room. 
He  was,  as  we  have  already  stated,  a  musician.  He 
played  on  several  instruments,  with  equal  and  consum- 
mate skill.  His  education  was  most  thorough,  having 
been  graduated  at  Oxford,  England.  There  was  a  slight 
resemblance  to  him  in  the  personne  of  his  son,  who  had 
the  same  erect  bearing  and  dauntless  brow,  —  the  same 
clear,  full  voice,  the  same  keen,  sparkling  eye  of  his 
father.  Mr.  Andrews  was  one  of  the  merriest  of  men, 
delighting  in  all  manner  of  amusement.  He  was  always 
ready  for  a  good  joke  and  a  hearty  laugh.  Of  Ida  he 
made  a  great  pet,  and  nothing  pleased  him  more  than 
her  amiable  and  instructive  society. 

After  an  interchange  of  some  pleasantry,  Mr.  Andrews 
took  up  his  flute,  and  seating  himself  in  a  corner  of  the 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  65 

room,  began  a  favorite  air,  at  her  particular  request. 
Willie  had  arranged  the  chess-board,  and,  placing  the 
men  in  battle  array,  threw  down  the  glove  to  Ida,  which 
she  accepted,  nothing  daunted  by  the  many  defeats  she 
had  sustained  through  the  superior  skill  of  her  subtle  an- 
tagonist. 

The  game  of  chess  is  unquestionably  the  noblest  of  all 
games,  as  it  is  the  most  ancient.  "  Its  original,"  says 
Franklin,  "is  beyond  the  memory  of  history,  and  it  has, 
for  numberless  ages,  been  the  amusement  of  all  the  civ- 
ilized nations  of  Asia,  the  Persians,  the  Indians,  and  the 
Chinese.  Europe  has  had  it  above  a  thousand  years. 
The  Spaniards  have  spread  it  over  their  part  of  America, 
and  it  begins  to  make  its  appearance  in  these  States. 
It  is  so  interesting  in  itself  as  not  to  need  the  view  of 
gain  to  induce  engaging  in  it;  and  thence  it  is  never 
played  for  money.  Those,  therefore,  who  have  leisure 
for  such  diversions  cannot  find  one  that  is  more  inno- 
cent. The  game  of  chess  is  riot  merely  an  idle  amuse- 
ment. Several  very  valuable  qualities  of  the  mind, 
useful  in  the  course  of  human  life,  are  to  be  acquired  or 
strengthened  by  it,  so  as  to  become  habits  ready  on  all 
occasions.  For  life  is  a  kind  of  chess,  in  which  we  have 
points  to  gain,  and  competitors  or  adversaries  to  con- 
tend with,  and  in  which  there  is  a  vast  variety  of  good 
and  ill  events  that  are  in  some  degree  the  effects  of  pru- 
dence, or  the  want  of  it." 

Willie  and  Ida  were  intent  upon  their  moves,  and 
could  have  felt  no  greater  interest  though  the  dis- 
covery of  a  new  world  was  involved  in  the  issue,  as 
happened  at  the  Court  of  Spain.  The  story  runs  in 
this  wise :  Ferdinand,  at  play  with  an  old  Spanish 
grandee,  whose  skill  tested  the  powers  of  the  monarch 
severely,  was  accosted  by  Isabella  on  behalf  of  "poor 
Columbus,"  whom  the  matter  of  fact  and  phlegmatic 
king  regarded  as  a  mere  adventurer  and  silly  enthusiast. 
The  queen's  interruption  so  distracted  the  king  that  he 
lost  his  principle  piece.  Absorbed  as  he  was  in  a  hard- 
fought  game  with  the  old  noble,  the  application  of  his 
consort  in  favor  of  an  importunate  sailor  drew  from  him 
a  burst  of  indignation  quite  startling.  The  game  seemed 


66  THE    PEKKIMAXS  ;     OR, 

to  him  lost.  Isabella,  however,  was  unmoved.  The 
king-  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  said,  ""  Win  this 
game  for  me,  and  your  portege  shall  be  successful ;" 
to  accomplish  which  he  deemed  impossible.  The  queen 
had  no  knowledge  of  the  game,  save  what  she  had  ac- 
quired by  watching  her  husband  and  the  nobles  ;  but  as 
her  sympathies  were  deeply  engaged  with  the  splendid 
visions  of  Columbus,  she  bent  all  her  great  energies  on 
the  board.  The  contest  had  been  long,  uncommonly  so. 
The  courtiers  gathered  around  the  table,  amused  at  the 
excitement  of  the  king,  and  the  quiet  satisfaction  of  his 
antagonist.  And  so  the  game  went  on  which  was  to 
decide  whether  a  new  world  should  be  sought  for  and 
discovered,  or  remain  veiled  by  the  darkness  of  ignor- 
ance, when  Isabella,  her  eyes  wild  with  the  passions 
of  her  soul,  leaned  forward  and  whispered  to  her  hus- 
band's ear,  "  You  can  check-mate  him  in  four  moves." 
The  king,  astonished  at  his  wife's  declaration,  looked 
closely  into  his  game,  and  achieved  a  victory  where  he 
thought  defeat  was  certain.  Columbus  and  his  mighty 
cause,  with  the  result  of  that  game  of  chess,  was  trium- 
phant. He  was  made  "  admiral  of  the  fleets,"  and 
sailed  westward  to  glory 

Willie  and  Ida  were  good  friends,  if  not  good  lovers ; 
and  as  they  sat  at  chess,  near  to  the  amiable  and  accom- 
plished father  of  the  young  man,  they  presented  a  pic- 
ture worthy  of  a  painter's  eye. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"  It  has  been  said  in  praise  of  some  men  that  they  could  talk  whole  hours  together 
upon  anything  ;  but  it  must  be  owned,  to  the  honor  of  the  other  sex,  that  there  ara 
many  among  them  who  can  talk  whole  hours  together  upon  nothing."  ADDISOS. 

"  It  is  safer  to  affront  some  people  than  to  oblige  them  ;  for  the  better  a  man  de- 
eerves  the  worse  they  will  speak  of  him."  SKNBCA. 

YOUNG  Andrews,  a  riddle  to  himself  and  others,  had 
thought  much  and  seriously  of  Ida,  whose  love,  she  had 
declared,  was  for  him  alone.  He,  however,  did  not  place 
much  confidence  in  Ida's  heroism,  the  devotion  of  her 
passion  !  He  had  always  found  her  an  agreeable  com- 
panion, but  his  partiality  was  nothing  more  than  a  bit 
of  romance,. —  a  pleasing  fancy.  He  would  not  unite 
himself  to  any  one  in  the  bonds  of  wedlock  without  be- 
ing first  assured  that  the  happiness  of  both  parties  de- 
pended on  the' union,  —  that  a  deep,  intelligent,  and  mu- 
tual love  existed.  Young  Andrews'  tastes  and  desires 
were  of  a  different  cast  from  those  of  Ida's,  and  as  he  ad- 
vanced in  age  and  experience  he  began  to  distrust  his 
capacity  to  enjoy  more  than  her  friendship.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  though  the  world  did  not  contain  a 
being  precisely  suited  to  his  needs,  —  one  answering 
to  his  beau  ideal ;  or,  if  it  did,  that  the  pattern  was 
so  rare  the  chance  was  exceedingly  small  of  ever  find- 
ing it. 

The  young  man's  favorite  poet  was  Byron,  whose 
works  he  had  read  and  re-read,  until  the  text  was  quite 
familiar  to  him.  One  stanza  in  particular,  from  the 
"  Childe,"  having  reference  to  astrology,  appeared  to  de- 
light him  ;  and  often  when  alone  and  musing  he  would 
give  utterance  to  it.  For  beauty  and  delicacy  of  thought 


68  THE    PENNIMANS  ;     OR, 

there  is  nothing  in  language  to  surpass  it.     Here  it 
is : 

' '  Ye  stars  !  which  are  the  poetry  of  Heaven  ! 

If  in  your  bright  leaves  we  would  read  the  fate 

Of  men  and  empires,  't  is  to  be  forgiven, 

That  in  our  aspirations  to  be  great, 

Our  destinies  o'erleap  their  mortal  state, 

And  claim  a  kindred  with  you  ;  for  ye  are 

A  beauty  and  a  mystery,  and  create 

In  us  such  love  and  reverence,  from  afar, 
That  fortune,  fame,  power,  life,  have  named  themselves  a  star." 

,  It  is  not  at  all  surprising  that  Willie  became  enam- 
ored of  the  genius  of  this  gifted  bard,  for  whom  many  lov- 
ers of  brilliant  writing  have  entertained  a  like  sentiment ; 
but  in  our  humble  judgment  Byron's  works  have  been 
and  continue  to  be  a  moral  scourge,  effecting  an  incal- 
culable amount  of  injury,  where  the  mind  of  the  reader 
is  at  all  predisposed  to  misanthrophy,  egotism,  lust,  and 
pride. 

"It  is  related,"  says  the  American  Messenger,  "of 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  fanciful  of  American  poets, 
who  died  recently,  that  though  he  was  seldom  seen  in 
the  streets  of  the  city  where  he  lived,  and  no  one  gained 
admission  into  the  rooms  he  occupied,  yet  he  was  a  poet, 
chemist,  musician,  botanist,  astronomer,  linguist,  and 
geologist ;  and  so  thoroughly  accomplished  in  each  of 
these  departments  of  knowledge  that  his  acquirements 
would  have  made  most  men  eminent.  But  with  powers 
that  fitted  him  for  taking  a  front  rank  among  the  world's 
benefactors,  he  withdrew  himself  from  sympathy  and 
companionship  with  men,  wrapping  himself  up  in  gloomy 
and  selfish  misanthropy,  and  leading  the  morbid  life 
'of  an  indigent  recluse.'  Mr.  S.  G.  Goodrich  (Peter 
Parley),  in  his  '  Recollections  of  a  Life  Time/  charges 
upon  Byron's  works  the  unhappy  career  of  this  man, 
who  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Perceval." 

William  Andrews'  occupation,  we  have  stated,  was 
that  of  a  clerk.  Catchpenny  &  Go.  were  his  employers. 
The  Catchpennys  had  two  comely-looking  daughters, 
one  of  whom,  the  youngest,  had  conceived  quite  an  in- 
terest in  William  Andrews ;  but  the  mother  was  not 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GEXIUS.  69 

altogether  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  a  match,  as  the 
Andrews  family  did  not  at  all  suit  her  ;  although  without 
any  claims  whatever  to  distinguished  parentage,  she 
being  the  daughter  of  a  tallowchandler,  and  Mr.  Catch- 
penny the  son  of  a  ropemaker  ;  yet  it  was  not  pleasant 
for  her  to  be  associated  with  musicians,  and  it  would  be 
"  death  to  her  pride  "  to  have  any  marriage  relations 
with  such  "low  people."  She  therefore  cautioned  her 
daughter  not  to  fall  in  love  with  Mr.  Andrews,  but  to 
treat  him  with  more  reserve,  without  appearing,  too 
cool ;  as  it  was  for  the  interest,  that  is,  the  business 
interest  of  the  family,  to  be  on  the  most  friendly  terms 
with  this  gentleman,  so  valuable  a  person  was  he  to  the 
house  of  Catchpenny  &  Co.  The  young  man  perfectly 
understood  Mrs.  Catchpenny  and  her  daughters  ;  indeed 
quite  as  well  as  he  did  Mr.  Catchpenny,  who  was  one 
of  the  most  illiterate  and  vulgar  of  men,  dressing  like 
and  assuming  all  the  airs  of  a  gentleman.  He  knew  that 
the  Catchpennys  were  vain,  and  as  the  associates  of 
the  Pennimans,  could  not  be  unlike  them  in  their  ideas 
of  respectability.  He  knew,  of  course,  if  he  was  objec- 
tionable on  the  score  of  his  family  to  the  Pennimans,  he 
should  also  be  objectionable  to  the  Catchpennys.  But 
Andrews  was  a  genius,  and  so  far  from  experiencing  any 
displeasure,  or  being  at  all  mortified  at  the  estimation  in 
which  his  family  were  held  by  these  "  rag  pickers,"  as 
he  termed  them  ;  instead  of  being  sorrowed  or  angered 
by  these  vulgar  people,  he  only  laughed  at  them,  and 
their  pretensions  heartily.  He  thought  it  a  capital  joke 
that  because  he  was  the  son  of  a  musician,  who  was 
of  the  best  blood  of  the  grade  esquire  in  England,  that 
he  should  be  deemed  the  less  worthy  of  marriage  rela- 
tions with  families  of  the  most  doubtful  genealogies,  not- 
withstanding they  made 'a  display  of  borrowed  arms  on 
their  carriages.  This,  however,  is  no  uncommon  prac- 
tice, in  this  land  of  humbug  and  parvenues. 

Andrews,  we  have  said,  was  a  genius,  and  like  all  of 
this  mental  construction,  could  not  be  reached  by  any 
small  notions  of  small  wits  among  whom  he  might  be 
thrown.  He  saw  into  and  thoroughly  comprehended 
human  life  and  the  human  heart.  He  had  been  an 


70  THE    PENNIMANS  ',     OK, 

earnest  student  of  the  Bible,  and  from  that  magnificent 
fountain  of  wisdom  and  truth  had  drank  of  the  living 
waters  of  life,  which  had  rendered  his  genius  invulner- 
able to  the  ills  which,  in  some  form  or  other,  constantly 
assail  mankind.  He  was  prepared  for  all  the  indignities 
which  the  insolence  of  our  "  first  families,"  and,  in 
fact,  "Young  America"  in  the  aggregate,  could  heap  upon 
him .  Conscious  of  being  well  born,  and  of  having  inher- 
ited a  virtuous  soul  from  a  virtuous  ancestry,  he  required 
no  marriage  relations  with  either  the  Pennimans,  the 
Catchpennys,  or  with  the  numerous  other  families  who 
have  sprung  into  notice  in  the  Pilgrim  City,  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  wealth,  to  make  him  any  the  more  secure  in  these 
possessions.  No,  no  ;  William  Andrews  was  not  to  be 
improved  by  any  such  connections,  nor,  in  fact,  did  he 
desire  to  marry  into  any  family  who  fancied  they  con- 
ferred a  favor  on  him  by  the  alliance.  Mrs.  Catchpenny 
and  her  daughters  were  always  delighted  to  have  Mr. 
Andrews  either  dine  or  sup  with  them,  for  he  was  an 
exceedingly  entertaining  man  and  a  well-bred  gentleman. 
Yes,  they  were  most  happy  to  be  amused  ;  so  that  whilst 
they  entertained  a  supreme  contempt  for  musicians  and 
artists,  generally,  they  could  not  but  admire  the  manners 
and  soul  of  their  confidential  clerk,  who  was  from  this 
order  of  talent.  Andrews  poked  a  great  deal  of  fun,  in 
a  sly  kind  of  way,  at  these  people,  as  wits  always  do, 
whenever  associated  with  superficial  dullness ;  but  the 
Gatchpennys  never  suspected  even  his  roguery,  although 
once  in  awhile  something  would  strike  them  as  a  "  little 
odd,"  when  they  would  exclaim,  "  Why,  Mr.  Andrews, 
how  droll  you  are ! "  It  was  at  such  times  that  our  genius 
had  flashed  his  wit  a  little  heavier  than  was  his  wont ; 
for  though  these  thick-headed  nobodies  in  feathers  were 
incapable  of  being  made  to  understand  that  they  were 
ridiculous,  in  the  manner  of  their  lives,  in  the  choice  of 
their  ideas,  and  in  the  sum  total  of  their  hopes,  yet  they 
could  discover  something  "  odd  "  in  the  society  of  genius 
when  amusing  itself  at  their  vulgarisms, 

It  was  a  very  pleasant  evening  in  June.  Many  of  both 
sexes  were  passing  around  the  Common,  in  the  mall  and 
on  the  sidewalk.  Among  the  number  were  the  Catch- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  71 

pennys,  and  the  "  confidential  clerk."  As  they  came 
up  to  each  other,  the  young  ladies,  who  appeared  to  be 
in  excellent  spirits,  suddenly  stopped,  and  boldly  con- 
fronted the  young  man.  "  Ah,  Mr.  Andrews  !  well,  if 
you  don't  look  as  sober  as  a  judge  I  wouldn't  say 
so, "remarked  Laura,  the  youngest  of  the  sisters. 

"  Hush,  Laura,"  exclaimed  Fanny  ;  "  people  will  think 
you  very  bold." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  if  they  do,"  returned  Laura ;  "  it 's 
a  free  country,  and  a  pretty  hard  case  if  the  best  in  it 
can't  do  as  they  please.  Besides,  who  has  a  better  right 
than  our  family  to  free  speech.  " 

These  young  ladies  were  altogether  of  the  modern 
school  of  manners,  and  as  their  father  was  a  wealthy  mer- 
chant, and  their  mother  had  "worked  in"  among  what  are 
termed  "  the  old  aristocratic  families,"  the  daughters  car- 
ried themselves  with  an  air  of  great  composure  and  self- 
complacency.  Their  regard  for  Andrews  was  mingled 
somewhat  with  contempt,  in  consequence  of  his  father's 
being  an  artist ;  for  art  and  artists,  in  common  with  the 
shallow-pated  of  their  coterie,  they  had  a  supreme  dis- 
gust, of  which  young  Andrews  was  not  unobservant ; 
though  they  were  always  careful,  when  in  his  company, 
to  conceal  these  sentiments  as  much  as  possible.  But 
our  hero  was  a  keen  observer,  and  of  a  most  searching, 
penetrating  wit ;  the  most  indirect  hint  of  character 
would  give  him  such  an  insight  into  it  as  was  truly  sur- 
prising, and  almost  miraculous.  He  knew  the  Catch- 
pennys  thoroughly  ;  he  knew  that  they  were  ambitious, 
proud,  and  contemptuous  of  all  those  whom  they  re- 
garded as  beneath  them.  But  he  nevertheless  humored 
these  people  ;  played  with  their  weakness  instead  of  re- 
buking it.  Indeed,  it  was  perhaps  policy  for  him  to  do 
so,  although  so  far  as  his  situation  with  Mr.  Catchpenny 
was  concerned,  we  are  of  opinion  that  he  was  quite  as 
necessary  to  that  gentleman's  interest  as  that  gentleman 
was  necessary  to  his.  Still,  there  might  be,  after  all, 
some  policy  in  young  Andrews  being  as  gracious  as  pos- 
sible towards  the  absurdities  of  Mrs.  Catchpenny  and 
her  girls. 

"  So  you  are  bound  to  have  free  speech,  Miss  Laura," 


72  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

said  he.  "  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  abuse  the  privilege, 
as  is  too  common  now-a-days." 

"  Abuse  it ;  ha !  ha  !  there  's  no  danger  of  that,  Mr. 
Andrews,"  replied  Laura.  "  I  should  like  to  know  what 
can  be  said  too  abusive  of  anybody  or  anything." 

"  There,  there  you  go,"  rejoined  William,  smoothing 
down  the  dress  of  the  young  lady,  which  the  wind  had 
well  nigh  lifted  over  her  head,  exposing  full  to  view  the 
white  and  handsomely  figured  dimity. 

"  Bless  me,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  "  this  wind  is  terrible. 
I  can  hardly  keep  on  my  feet." 

"  Very  modest,  to  be  sure,"  replied  Laura.  "Come  let's 
go  home,  and  get  out  of  this  thundering  bluster.  Hallo, 
there's  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blowhard  just  passed,  feeling  quite 
well,  as  you  can  observe.  They  are  very  proud  people, 
very  proud  people.  Their  grandfather  happened  to  do 
a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  charities  ;  so  it  sets  them  up. 
Say,  Andrews,  what  do  you  think  of  this  family  ?  Come, 
go  home  with  us  and  take  tea,  and  answer  my  question 
as  we  go  along.  " 

"  Well,  to  be  frank  with  you,  "  replied  he,  "I  think  the 
Blowhards,  as  the  world  goes,  are  not  so  bad.  The 
truth  is  they  are  well-born  people,  and  if  they  are  with- 
out any  special  intellectual  gifts,  why  the  fault  is  not 
theirs.  People,  you  know,  having  wealth  and  well-born, 
will  carry  themselves  pretty  stiff,  the  world  over." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Laura,  "all  persons  have  their  weak 
points,  and  some,  methinks,  have  nothing  else.  Here 
comes  the  Yello-wbodies.  What  an  enormous  woman 
she  is.  How  insignificant  her  husband  appears  beside 
her." 

"  Mrs.  Yellowbody  "  said  Fanny,  "  is  a  pretty  clever 
sort  of  a  woman,  but  mother,  though  on  excellent  terms 
with  her,  thinks  she 's  dreadful  coarse  and  vulgar  in  her 
appearance.  Indeed  that  family  —  the  sisters  are  just 
BO.  The  fact  is,  they  have  an  immense  deal  of  assurance, 
and  this  feeling,  added  to  their  naturally  bold  and  an- 
imal personne,  renders  them  thus  immodest  and  disgust- 
ing." 

"You  are  rather  severe  upon  your  friends,  are  you 


THE  TRIUMPH  OP  GENIUS.  73 

not,  Miss  Fanny  ?  "  interrogated  young  Andrews,  with 
an  air  of  drollery. 

"  0  no,  not  at  all,"  returned  the  girl.  "  It  comes  just 
as  natural  to  our  family  to  speak  of  ihe  failings,  as  well 
as  the  virtues  of  our  friends.  Besides,  what  are  friends, 
after  all  ? " 

"  Everything,  where  they  are  true  and  reliable,"  re- 
joined William. 

"  Where  they  are  true  and  reliable,"  reiterated  Fan- 
ny ;  "  and  I  should  like  to  know  when  they  are  relia- 
ble ?  " 

"  Not  often  ;  but  sometimes,  Miss  Fanny,  it  happens 
so,"  replied  young  Andrews,  observing  the  girl  nar- 
rowly, as  he  spoke.  "  It  happens  so,  sometimes." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  I  "  exclaimed  Laura  ;  "  no,  I  don't 
believe  it.  How  many  times  I  've  heard  mother  say  she 
placed  no  faith  in  any  one  !  " 

"  That  is  a  safe  rule,"  replied  William ;  "  but  I  should 
be  most  unhappy  if  I  thought  all  to  be  false  ;  for  to  me 
there  is  real  delight  in  an  honest  friendship,  and  I  am 
convinced  there  are  many  such  in  our  midst." 

"  There  are  very  few  ; —  I  doubt  if  there  are  any  sin- 
cere attachments  in  our  set;"  rejoined  Laura.  "  The 
truth  is,  each  one  thinks  too  much  of  him  or  herself  to 
think  much  of  anybody  else." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  one's  being  too  friendly  ?  "  re- 
marked Fanny.  "  I  know  friendships  are  thought  very 
sweet  and  beautiful,  where  there  is  sentiment ;  but  then 
't  is  so  unfashionable,  —  so  countryfied,  —  so  simple- 
hearted.  Among  persons  of  quality  it's  never  tole- 
rated." 

"  Well,  Miss  Fanny,  I  hope  one  of  these  days  there 
may  be,  among  persons  of  quality,  a  change  in  this  re- 
spect," rejoined  Andrews,  evidently  enjoying  the  re- 
mark ;  "  and  that  they  may  find  it  for  their  interest,  and 
consequently  happiness,  to  love  their  neighbor  as  them- 
selves." 

"  Oh,  this  is  utterly  impossible,  —  positively  shocking, 
sir,"  replied  Laura. 

"Yes,  but  it's  scriptural,"  rejoined  William;  "and 
what  better  authority  can  you  desire  than  that  ?  " 
4 


74  THE   PENNIMANS  J     OB, 

"  Oh,  now  you  are  coming  with  your  authorities," 
returned  Laura;  "but  fortunately  we  are  at  our  door, 
and  may  give  your  authorities  the  slip.  But  seriously, 
you  don't  suppose  it  is  possible  for  any  of  us  to  love  our 
neighbor  as  ourself  ?  " 

"  Some  other  time,  Miss  Laura,  we  will  talk  this  mat- 
ter over,  and  come  to  some  conclusion,"  rejoined  William, 
"I  think  it  is  possible  for  Christians  to  love  one  another 
as  themselves,  but  of  course  only  under  the  direct  influ- 
ence of  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  must  sanctify  all  friend- 
ships, or  they  are  ropes  of  sand.  I  will  now  leave  you." 

"  Oh  no,  come  in,  do,  and  take  tea  with  us,"  said 
Fanny,  at  the  same  time  catching  hold  of  the  young 
man's  coat.  "  Mother  will  be  so  disappointed  not  to  see 
you !  " 

"Yes,  now  do  come  in,  Mr.  Andrews,"  earnestly  spoke 
Laura,  taking  him  by  the  arm.  "  We  will  not  excuse  you. 
Come  in,  and  cheer  up  mother's  spirits  ;  now  do  1  " 

Our  hero  was  fairly  in  possession  of  the  Misses  Catch- 
penny. One  was  on  each  side,  and  it  was  an  utter  im- 
possibility for  him  to  escape  ;  so  after  some  little  resist- 
ance, the  young  man  confessed  himself  a  prisoner,  and 
was  led  into  the  fashionable  residence  of  these  exceed- 
ingly fashionable  ladies.  But  it  was  no  new  scene  to 
William.  He  had  often  been  present  at  their  tea-table, 
and  had  as  often  been  amused  at  the  many  gross  ab- 
surdities which  characterized  the  mother  and  daughters. 
It  was  an  amusement  to  the  confidential  clerk  to  listen 
to  their  conversation  ;  and  though  he  seldom  sought  to 
check  them  by  any  sallies  of  ridicule,  still  he  could  not 
resist,  at  times,  dropping  a  remark  charged  slightly 
with  reprobation. 

In  a  short  time  tea  was  announced  as  ready,  and  the 
company  soon  made  their  appearance,  consisting  of 
Mrs.  Catchpenny,  her  daughters,  and  Mrs.  Touchmenot 
and  her  daughter,  Miss  Julia,  soon  to  be  married  to  an 
exquisite,  born  somewhere  near  the  Northern  Lakes. 
He  was  considered  one  of  the  handsomest  men  in  the 
city,  and  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  biggest  fools.  It 
was  generally  thought  a  very  foolish  match. 

With  this  set  of  petticoats,  as  shallow-pated  and 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  75 

ridiculous  as  an  idle,  luxurious  life  could  make  them, 
our  hero,  William  Andrews,  was  condemned  to  drink 
tea,  and  to  enter  into  all  their  absurd  views  of  matters 
in  general.  But  Andrews  was  a  gentleman,  and  al- 
though he  chafed  under  the  infliction,  he  gave  no  sign 
or  token  of  his  dissatisfaction,  but  bore  patiently  the 
nonsense  of  these  women  with  apparent  delighf. 

There  is  no  self-control  so  difficult  as  that  of  appear- 
ing pleased  with  fashionable  twaddle,  when  at  every 
word  our  indignant  sense  of  truth  and  harmony  is  strug- 
gling for  expression.  Especially  is  this  so  where  there 
is  genius,  which  is  ever  impetuous  and  authoritative. 
But  the  young  man  listened  with  a  marked  degree  of 
composure  and  seeming  interest  to  all  that  was  said, 
and  made  quite  a  favorable  impression  on  Miss  Julia, 
whom  he  now  met  for  the  first  time  ;  and  she  declared 
were  she  unengaged,  and  if  Mr.  Andrews  was  only  bet- 
ter born,  she  should  certainly  set  her  cap  for  him  ;  but 
of  course  she  had  good  breeding  enough  to  make  this 
remark  in  so  low  a  tone  as  to  be  heard  only  by  her 
mamma,  who  sat  with  all  the  dignity  of  a  dowager  be- 
tween her  daughter  and  Mrs.  Catchpenny. 

We  have  been  especially  amused  at  the  pretensions 
of  these  Touchmenots,  who  are  among  the  leading  mem- 
bers of  the  pseudo- Aristocracy  of  our  city,  and  have 
afforded  the  wits  as  much  amusement,  in  times  past  and 
present,  as  any  two  of  the  most  ridiculous  families  to  be 
named.  The  reader  will  have  an  opportunity  of  an  in- 
troduction to  these  persons,  who  present  such  a  con- 
spicuous appearance  at  this  tea-party. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  your  tea  is  very  nice ! " 
exclaimed  Miss  Julia;  "but  it's  so  hot!  I  abominate 
anything  so  very  hot." 

"  Patience,  my  dear  child, — patience,"  returned  Mrs. 
Catchpenny  ;  "  it  will  soon  cool." 

"  Yes,  have  patience,  my  dear,"  remarked  Mrs.  Touch- 
menot ;  "  the  world  was  n't  made  in  a  minute." 

"  I  should  n't  think  it  was,"  spoke  up  Fanny ;  "  there 
is  so  much  in  it  of  elaborate  ornament." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  "  interrogated 
Laura,  who  sat  by  the  side  of  Andrews. 


76  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OR, 

"  No  matter,  no  matter  what  she  means !  "  exclaimed 
the  hostess  ;  "  she  always  requires  to  be  explained." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha  I"  roared  Julia;  "that 
puts  me  in  mind  of  something.  Why,  Mr.  Andrews, 
how  sober  you  are !  " 

"Deference,  deference,  Miss  Touchmenot,"  returned 
the  young  man,  almost  unable  to  preserve  a  serious 
countenance.  "I  listen,  generally,  when  in  so  select  a 
company,  with  a  good  deal  of  gravity." 

This  remark  was  highly  pleasing  to  Mrs.  Touchmenot, 
who  threw  back  her  shoulders,  and  seemed  quite  satis- 
fied that  he  had  confessed  himself  in  the  presence  of 
persons  of  quality  ;  for  this  lady  never  could  be  too  often 
reminded  of  her  pretensions. 

"Well,  as  I  was  going  to  say,"  continued  Julia,  "I 
am  reminded  of  something.  Ha !  ha  I  ha !  what  a  queer 
girl  you  are,  Laura.  Whenever  I  undertake  to  say  any- 
thing that 's  good,  and  catch  your  eye,  I  am  sure  to 
laugh  ;  you  are  so  very  quizical !  " 

"  Laugh  !  you  should  never  laugh,  my  dear,  when  you 
are  telling  a  story,"  spoke  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  with  an 
air  of  imperative  command.  "  Let  others  laugh,  my 
dear,  if  they  choose,  but  never  laugh  yourself —  never  I 
You  know,  when  we  were  at  Newport,  last  summer,  how 
ridiculous  it  appeared  in  those  people  from  the  South  ; 
and  we  remarked  it  at  the  time,  did  we  not  ?  " 

"  Those  people  from  the  South  were  fools,"  returned 
the  daughter,  testily. 

"  You  remember  that  family,  do  you  not,  Laura,  who 
were  incessantly  cracking  jokes,  and  laughing  at  their 
own  absurdities  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Touchmenot. 

"  That  I  do,"  returned  Laura.  "  I  was  so  mad  with 
the  one  who  passed  for  a  belle  that  I  could  have  given 
her  a  good  shaking." 

"  Really,  Miss  Laura,  you  are  more  pugnacious  than 
I  ever  thought  you,"  said  William  Andrews. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Andrews,  she  can  be,  when  she  has  a 
mind  to,  a  perfect  Zantiffede  I  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny, putting  a  slice  of  buttered  toast  on  Mrs.  Touch- 
menot's  plate,  who  was  so  ceremonious  and  dignified 
that  she  would  not  help  herself. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  77 

"  Why,  mother ! "  exclaimed  Fanny,  putting  down 
the  cup  of  tea  which  she  had  raised  to  her  mouth, 
"there's  no  such  person  as  ZantiSede." 

"  Hush,  child,"  returned  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  the  blood 
crimsoning  her  face;  "there  was  such  a  person.  It's 
an  historical  character.  You  '11  have  to  review  history 
again,  I  see  plainly." 

"  I  tell  you,  mother,  I  am  right,"  replied  Fanny. 
"  There  is,  nor  never  was,  such  a  person  as  Zantiflede  ; 
and  I  will  leave  it  to  Mrs.  Touchmenot." 

"  Why,  my  dear  child,"  returned  that  important  per- 
sonage, "your  mother  is  of  course  right.  It  is  some 
time  since  I  studied  the  classics,  but  I  am  quite  sure 
your  mother  is  right.  This  Zantiffede  was  a  sort  of 
amphibious  creature,  if  I  mistake  not,  that  dwelt  in  and 
about  the  shores  of  Greece,  in  its  golden  age." 

"  Yes,  and  was  an  object  of  dread  to  the  sailors," 
continued  Julia,  "who  found,  whenever  they  landed 
near  where  this  creature  was,  some  of  their  number 
were  sure  to  go  mad.  This  creature  was  neither  a  man 
nor  a  woman,  but  an  hermaphrodite.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  just 
think  of  such  a  creature  " 

"  You  are  not  right  yet,"  exclaimed  Fanny.  "  I 
should  like  to  know  out  of  what  history  you  got  any 
such  account  of  the  wife  of  Socrates." 

"  Wife  of  Socrates  !  "  vociferated  Julia,  swallowing  a 
sip  of  tea  ;  "  that  vulgar  ancient  never  had  a  wife.  No- 
body would  have  him,  and  he  died  in  consequence." 

"  I  tell  you  it 's  no  such  thing,"  replied  Fanny. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny. 

"Let  us  first  know  who  is  right,  and  who  is  wrong," 
said  Laura.  "  My  opinion  is  that  Fanny's  correction  is 
history;  but  to  put  it  beyond  further  question,  I  propose 
that  Mr.  Andrews  decide  Will  you  all  abide  by  Mr. 
Andrews'  decision  ?  n 

"  I'm  quite  willing,"  said  Fanny.  "  Mr.  Andrews  is 
well  read  ;  that  everybody  knows." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Andrews,  come,  give  us  your  opinion," 
remarked  Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  Are  we  not  right  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam  ;  but  if  you  would  have  me  truth- 
ful, I  must  confirm  Miss  Fanny's  statement.  It  is  Xan- 


78 


THE    PENNIMANS  ',     OR, 


thippee,  and  not  Zantiffede,  who  was  the  scolding  wife 
of  Socrates." 

"  It  can't  be  so,  it  can't  be  so,  Mr.  Andrews !  "  ex- 
claimed Julia,  looking  most  seriously  at  him.  "  You 
are  mistaken ;  oh,  you  are  mistaken,  sir ;  but  never 
mind,  never  mind.  Laura,  who  was  that  fine  looking, 
gentlemany  fellow  I  saw  gallanting  you  to-day  ?  He 
looks  so  much  like  my  brother,  now  in  Italy.  He  could 
not  bear  this  country ;  he  thinks  Americans  are  dread- 
ful vulgar.  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  he 's  a  queer  fellow  ;  but 
really  I  think  he  'B  right  about  Americans." 

"  Well,  I  do  think  you  are  just  one  of  the  coolest  per- 
sons I  ever  knew,"  said  Fanny,  looking  at  Miss  Touch- 
menot  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 

"  Hush,  hush,  hush,  child ;  that  matter  is  all  settled," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny. 

"  Fanny  does  remind  me  so  much  of  Lucy  Atlay,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Touchmenot.  "  You  know  that  family, 
Mrs.  Catchpenny  ?  " 

"  0  yes  —  of  them  —  I  know  of  them  ;  but  we  don't 
visit,"  replied  the  hostess.  "The  truth  is  Mrs.  Atlay 
is  not  quite  up  to  my  mark." 

"  No,  nor  mine,"  returned  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  with  an 
air  of  great  disdain.  "I  don't  consider  her  at  all  on 
our  level.  Her  set  is  quite  common,  —  quite  so." 

"  Why,  yes,"  rejoined  Julia,  "  as  common  as  common 
can  be.  There  are  people  in  her  set  I  'm  sure  /  should 
not  want  to  know,  on  any  account.  For  instance,  there 
are  those  Bigbugs  — just  mere  nobodies  —  mushrooms. 
I  heartily  despise  those  people." 

"  Mrs.  Bigbug  was  the  daughter  of  a  tavern-keeper," 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  contemptuously  ;  "  a  tav- 
ern-keeper I  Really,  it  is  amusing  to  observe  what  airs 
such  people  give  themselves,  especially  when  accident- 
ally or  otherwise  thrown  among  their  superiors." 

"  The  girls  are  truly  laughable,"  remarked  Laura, 
with  a  giggle.  "  Whenever  they  appear  on  the  street 
they  are  always  in  full  dress  ;  and  with  such  manners  ! 
They  are  not  at  all  sure  of  their  position  ;  this  is  quite 
evident ;  so  assume  in  their  bearing  what  the  best  soci- 
ety, being  certain  of,  are  always  easy  about,  and  have 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  79 

no  occasion  to  adopt  the  custom  among  ordinary  people 
of  appearing  ostentatious  in  order  to  induce  the  idea 
that  they  are  somebody." 

"  Very  well  expressed,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny, who,  in  conjunction  with  Mrs.  Touchmenot  and 
Mrs.  Penniman,  and  the  Yellowbodies,  was  the  very  ex- 
treme of  presumption  and  pretension  ;  "  very  well  ex- 
pressed indeed."  . 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Andrews,  you  do  not  altogether  sym- 
pathize with  us  in  our  views,"  remarked  Mrs.  Touchme- 
not, with  excessive  dignity  ;  "  I  believe  you  are  a  Dem- 
ocrat." 

"Fudge  !  "  exclaimed  Laura,  casting  an  eye  of  mirth 
at  the  young  man  ;  "he  's  no  more  a  Democrat  than  I 
am." 

"  I  hope  not,"  remarked  Fanny ;  "  for  I  do  think 
democracy  the  most  vulgar  of  all  ideas  ever  heard  of." 

"  Whenever  you  want  to  find  a  vulgar  person,"  said 
Mrs.  Catchpenny,  giving  her  head  a  toss,  "just  look  up 
a  Democrat,  and  you  have  one.  I  am  disgusted  with 
this  class  of  persons  —  low-born  and  low-bred.  When- 
ever /  am  at  Newport  or  Nahant,  and  observe  an  un- 
couth family,  upon  inquiry  as  to  their  politics,  I  am  sure 
to  learn  that  they  are  Democrats.  Mr.  Andrews,  I 
hope,  I  sincerely  hope,  you  are  no  such  person." 

"  Well,  really,  ladies,  you  hold  in  such  contempt  the 
democracy,"  rejoined  the  young  man,  "  that  I  am  almost 
disposed  to  belie  myself,  and  join  with  you  in  denuncia- 
tion of  this  party." 

"  But  are  you  really  a  Democrat,  Mr.  Andrews  ?  "  in- 
terrogated Julia  ;  "  that. is  what  I  would  like  to  know." 

"  Of  course  he  is,"  remarked  Fanny  ;  "  he  's  what  his 
father  is  ;  it's  very  natural." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Fanny,"  responded  William,  "  for 
aiding  me  in  my  embarrassment.  A  man  is  certainly 
not  to  blame  for  inheriting  his  father's  politics." 

"Then  you  are  a  Democrat,  Mr.  Andrews!"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Touchmenot,  with  affected  astonishment ; 
for  she  well  knew  the  young  man's  father  was  a  leading 
Democrat,  and  that  in  all  probability  the  son  was  like 
unto  the  father.  Indeed,  both  she  and  her  mother  re- 


80  THE   PENNIMANS  ',     OR, 

garded  the  Andrews,  family  as  quite  plebeian,  and  her 
inquiries  as  to  William's  politics  were  from  a  desire  to 
annoy  him  more  than  to  inform  herself. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Touchmenot,  I  am  a  Democrat  out  and 
out,"  said  William  ;  "  which  acknowledgment,  since  I 
have  Miss  Fanny  as  my  friend,  I  do  not  hesitate  or  fear 
to  make." 

"0,  but  you've  not  me  for  your  friend,  Mr.  An- 
drews 1"  exclaimed  Fanny  ;  "  for  I  think  just  as  Julia 
does,  —  that  the  democracy  is  a  vulgar  rabble  ;  and  I 
am  sorry,  very  sorry,  Mr.  Andrews,  that  you  belong  to 
it." 

"  And  so  am  I !"  exclaimed  Laura. 

"  So  are  we  all,"  said  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  passing  the 
cake  to  Mrs.  Touchmenot ;  "  but  it  is  very  difficult  for 
one  to  rise  above  the  notions  of  their  family." 

"  0,  very,  —  very  indeed,"  returned  Mrs.  Touchme- 
not. "  I  have  seen  this  illustrated  so  many,  many 
times  —  so  many  times  1 " 

"  But,  Mr.  Andrews,  you  don't  really  mean  .to  live 
and  die  a  Democrat,  —  one  of  the  caniellef"  interro- 
gated Julia.  "  I  hope  not,  sir." 

"  I  shall  probably,  Miss  Touchmenot,  live  and  die  in 
the  political  and  religious  faith  of  my  fathers,"  returned 
William,  in  a  firm  and  earnest  tone.  "  We  are  in  a  di- 
rect line  from  the  Regicides,  who  sent  Charles  I.  to  the 
block  —  Puritans  and  king-killers." 

"  Line  !  —  have  you  a  line,  Mr.  Andrews  ?"  interro- 
gated Mrs.  Touchmenot,  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  madam,  an  unbroken  one,  as  far  back  as  the 
reign  of  King  John,  in  the  twelfth  century,  whom  the 
Barons,  at  Runnymede,  forced  to  sign  the  Magna  Charta, 
the  first  important  step  towards  the  limitation  of  mon- 
archy, and  the  foundation  of  the  liberties  of  the  English 
nation.  My  ancestor  was  an  Esquire  in  the  service  of 
William,  Earl  of  Arundel,  whose  honored  name  is  at- 
tached to  that  most  august  and  remarkable  document." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Andrews,  we  had  no  idea  your  genea- 
logical tree  was  so  well  defined,"  remarked  the  hostess, 
evidently  surprised  at  the  statement.  "  We,  too,  feel  a 
deep  interest  in  the  past." 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  GENIUS.  81 

"  So  do  we,"  said  Madam  Touchmenot.  "  The  past  I 
how  delightful  it  is  to  revert  to  it,  and  run  over  the 
heroic  deeds  of  one's  ancestry  I "  and  as  she  said  this, 
there  was  an  evident  satisfaction  in  the  idea. 

"  I  presume  there  are  no  Democrats,  madam,  in  your 
line  ? "  remarked  Andrews,  with  all  the  seriousness  he 
could  command. 

"  None  that  we  are  aware  of,  sir.  It  is  possible  there 
may  be  one  here  and  there,  in  the  line,"  returned  Mrs. 
Touchmenot  with  a  most  dignified  movement  of  the 
head  ;  "  although  we  are  not  disposed  to  make  the  ad- 
mission." 

"  Then  your  pedigree  is  not  as  clear  and  well  under- 
stood as  you  would  be  glad  to  have  it  ?  "  interrogated 
the  young  man,  laughing  in  his  sleeve  all  the  while ;  for 
he  well  knew  these  people  were  of  humble  extraction. 

"  Not  so,  not  so,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Touchmenot. 
"  We  go  back  to  William  the  Conqueror,  and  are  per- 
fectly well  informed  as  to  every  link  in  the  chain." 

"  Excuse  me,  madam,  excuse  me  for  any  apparent 
contrary  impression,"  rejoined  Andrews,  scarcely  able 
to  contain  his  jocular  emotions. 

"  Have  another  cup  of  tea,  Julia,  won't  you?  —  now, 
do,"  said  the  hostess,  evidently  desirous  of  changing  the 
subject ;  for  she  well  knew  on  the  score  of  pedigree,  she, 
nor  the  Touchmenots,  could  present  honestly  any  such 
claims  as  had  young  Andrews,  whom  they  regarded  of 
inferior  extraction  to  themselves,  because  the  son  of  a 
musician  I 

"  If  this  is  not  peculiar,"  thought  young  Andrews, 
"  what  can  possibly  be  ?  " 

"  0,  Mr.  Andrews,"  spoke  up  Fanny,  "  do  tell  us  if 
the  report  is  true  that  you  are  engaged  to  Ida  Robert- 
son. Everybody  says  you  are." 

"  Well,  you  know,  Miss  Fanny,"  replied  William, 
"  that  what  everybody  says  is  believed,  as  a  rule,  to  be 
true  ;  so  were  I  to  deny  the  report,  I  suppose  (every- 
body's assertion  would  still  be  credited." 

"  A  very  sensible  response,  very,  sir,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Touchmenot.     "  In  a  country  where   the  majority  is 
law,  what  everybody  says  certainly  must  be  true." 
4* 


82  THE    PENNIMANS  }     OR, 

"  I  don't  believe  it,  though  !  "  exclaimed  Fanny,  cast- 
ing an  inquiring  glance  at  the  clerk. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't,"  exclaimed  Laura,  helping  herself 
to  a  piece  of  pie.  "  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  it. 
Such  a  strange  man  as  you  are,  Mr.  Andrews,  will  find 
it  very  hartl  to  get  married  to  a  woman  of  any  wit. 
The  fact  is  you  are  so  difficult  to  understand." 

"  I  certainly  see  nothing  so  incomprehensible,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Touchmenot,  energetically ;  and  at  my 
time  of  life  I  ought  to  know  what's  what." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  see  nothing  mysterious  in  Mr.  Andrews," 
remarked  Madam  Catchpenny  ;  but  girls  now-a-days  are 
always  in  advance  of  their  mothers." 

"  That's  just  as  it  should  be,"  returned  Fanny,  smil- 
ing. "  Young  America  has  and  ought  to  have  a  uni- 
versal application;  —  the  cart  before  the  horse,  always." 

"  So,  Miss  Laura,  I  'm  a  riddle,  am  I  ?"  interrogated 
William,  in  the  utmost  good  nature. 

"  You  are,  indeed ;  as  complete  and  puzzling  a  riddle, 
too,  as  ever  walked  on- two  legs,"  returned  Laura,  ear- 
nestly. 

"Legs,  my  dear, — legs!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny. "For  Heaven's  sake  be  a  little  more  refined! 
Say  limbs,  my  dear,  —  limbs.  What  is  the  present  gen- 
eration of  girls  coming  to?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  roared  Julia;  "I  don't  think,  Mrs. 
Catchpenny,  your  correction  likely  to  be  much  re- 
spected. Legs! — why,  bless  your  soul,  legs  are  more 
in  use  now  than  ever  before,  since  both  sexes  have 
taken  to  public  bathing  in  the  sea,  and  wear  the 
breeches.  Nobody  thinks  of  talking  about  limbs.  It's 
legs,  my  dear  Mrs;  Catchpenny,  all  the  world  over;  and 
some  beautiful  specimens  there  are  on  exhibition,  dur- 
ing the  summer  season,  along  the  Atlantic  shore,  float- 
ing on  the  wave.  It  is  a  delightful  custom,  this  bathing 
with  the  gentlemen,  I  do  assure  you." 

"So  it  is,  so  it  is,"  exclaimed  Fanny.  "Let  me 
read  you  the  correspondence  from  Newport,  in  the 
Transcript  of  this  evening.  The  writer  is  a  darling, — 
there 's  no  doubt  of  that. 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  83 

"  *  Surf-bathing,  on  the  great  beach  at  Newport,  in  the  height  of 
the  season,  and  for  the  first  time  in  one's  life,  is  a  curious  experience. 
So  I  thought,  when,  one  fine  day,  a  short  time  ago,  I  found  myself, 
upon  the  payment  of  twenty-five  cents,  the  temporary  lessee  of  a  bath- 
ing-dress and  one  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  little  houses  that  are  ranged 
along  the  sands  at  high-water  mark.  The  costume  which  is  furnished 
you  on  such  an  occasion  is  remarkable  for  its  severe  simplicity.  It 
consists  of  a  woollen  jacket  or  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  flimsy  cotton  trous- 
ers ;  and  you  sally  forth  from  your  box  with  a  noble  disregard  of  ap- 
pearances, your  head  without  a  covering,  and  your  bare  feet  making 
tracks  in  the  sand,  after  the  manner  of  Robinson  Crusoe's  man  Fri- 
day. As  there  is  a  crowd  of  spectators  assembled,  some  waiting  for 
their  turn  as  occupants  of  the  little  houses  aforesaid,  and  some  who 
have  taken  the  beach  for  their  morning  drive,  whatever  native  mod- 
esty is  latent  in  one's  composition,  is  sure  to  develop  itself.  The  cus- 
todion  of  the  garments  which  are  furnished  at  the  beach  seems  to  be 
of  a  humorous  turn  of  mind,  and  inclined  to  mild  practical  jokes  in 
the  matter  of  his  dispensations  ;  for  to  such  as  are  portly  he  gives  the 
smallest  dresses  in  his  wardrobe,  while  gentlemen  of  moderate  stature 
find  themselves  arrayed  in  habiliments  of  most  superfluous  dimensions. 
I  made  my  debut  in  a  ragged  red  shirt  which  afibrded  thorough  ven- 
tilation, and  a  pair  of  untractable  trousers  which  appeared  to  have 
been  made  for  the  American  Giant. 

"  '  But  whatever  may  be  the  infelicities  of  your  apparel,  you  put  a 
bold  face  on  the  matter,  and  march  into  the  water  as  if  you  had  done 
it  every  day  for  a  twelvemonth,  Sundays  not  excepted.  Despite  your 
embarrassing  self-consciousness,  you  are  startled  at  the  aspect  of  cer- 
tain of  your  fellow-creatures,  who,  having  disported  themselves  suf- 
ficiently in  the  salt  sea  waves,  are  returning  to  assume  their  usual 
costume.  And  what  a  picture  they  present,  as,  with  their  scanty 
garments  dripping  with  brine  and  clinging  close  to  their  persons, 
with  some  erratic  style  of  dilapidated  straw  bound  round  their  heads, 
and  with  their  hair  enveloped  in  oil-cloth,  these  feminine  curiosities 
(for  they  are  indeed  of  womankind)  splash  through  the  shallow  water. 
Are  these  the  modern  mermaids  ?  Is  it  in  this  guise  that  Beauty  darea 
array  herself?  As  you  pass  them,  you  seem  to  recognize  the  party 
that  sat  opposite  you  yesterday,  at  the  hotel  table.  Can  it  be?  You 
almost  stand  aghast  at  this  thorough  metamorphosis.  Yonder  lank 
figure,  from  which  just  now  proceeded  the  sound  of  subdued  laughter, 
—  can  it  be  she  who,  in  all  the  glory  of  her  splendid  attire,  met  your 
admiring  gaze  at  dinner,  yester-afternoon,  and  when  the  feast  was 
over,  sailed  so  majestically  from  the  hall?  And  her  companions  — 
the  portly  lady  in  black,  the  two  elderly  persons,  and  the  pleasing 
young  lady  in  pink,  whom  you  looked  at  in  a  brown  study  during 
dessert  • —  can  these  indeed  be  thus  transformed  ?  Yes  !  it  is  even  so. 
A  new  light  dawns  upon  you.  You  magnify  the  mission  of  the  dress- 
maker, and  the  othor  artists  who  contribute  toward  the  embellish- 
ment of  the  feminine  form  ;  you  feel  ashamed  of  the  criticisms  which 
in  times  past  you  have  bestowed  upon  bonnets  both  large  and  small  ; 
you  repent  of  your  weak  sarcasms  upon  hoops,  and  you  become  sud- 


84  THE   PENNIMANS  J    OB, 

denly  reconciled  to  all  manner  of  feminine  costumes,  except  the  one 
before  you.  "Take  any  shape  but  that,"  you  exclaim  to  theses 
generally. 

"  '  While  you  have  been  thus  improving  the  shining  moments,  you 
have  got  to  where  the  surf  is  rolling  in  from  the  ocean,  and  breaking 
over  the  forms  of  the  bathers.  You  join  one  of  the  merry  groups  who 
are  meeting  each  foam-crested  wave,  and  essay  to  rise  like  them  when 
the  swell  reaches  you.  But  this  time  the  surf  is  higher  than  usual, 
and  over  you  go,  with  your  mouth  full  of  salt  water,  and  a  fearful  un- 
certainty as  to  where  you  will  finally  turn  up.  Your  footing  is  at 
last  regained  ;  and  when,  after  much  gasping  and  coughing,  you  are 
able  to  look  around  you,  you  conclude  that  you  have  had  surf  enough 
for  to-day,  and  think  you  will  go.  But  you  try  to  believe,  neverthe- 
less, that  it  is  excellent  fun,  besides  being  healthful  and  bracing. 

"  'And  now  comes  another  embarrassing  situation.  The  gauntlet 
of  curious  spectators  is  yet  to  be  run  ; — the  formidable  array  of  ladies 
in  their  carriages,  who  gaze  languidly  at  the  bathers  through  their 
eye-glasses,  is  to  be  passed  before  your  dressing-room  is  reached.  If 
your  covering  seemed  scanty  and  insufficient  before  entering  the 
water,  it  is  still  more  so  now  that,  wet  as  a  sop,  it  clings  to  you  with 
more  persistency  than  grace.  You  rather  dread  to  encounter  the 
playful  remarks  of  the  fair  critics  in  the  carriages,  and  you  stand  for 
a  time  in  a  dreadful  state  of  indecision.  Suddenly  you  find  that  you 
have  forgotten  the  number  of  your  bathing  house.  You  remember 
looking  at  the  sign  on  the  door,  as  you  came  out,  but  whether  it  was 
forty-six,  or  sixty-four,  or  fifty-eight,  or  eighty-five,  you  cannot  for 
the  life  of  you  tell.  The  number  went  out  of  your  head  when  the  salt 
water  came  into  it  so  suddenly,  under  the  surf.  You  imagine  all 
sorts  of  possible  adventures  arising  from  your  bursting  into  the  wrong 
hut,  and  surprising  a  lady  or  gentleman  in  a  partial  toilet.  Perhaps 
you  will  be  taken  for  a  thief ;  perhaps  for  something  worse.  But 
what  is  to  be  done  ?  To  stay  in  the  water  all  day  is  not  entirely  prac- 
ticable, and  growing  desperate  you  rush  for  house  number  forty-six, 
which  fortunately  proves  to  be  the  right  one.  Your  progress  up  the 
beach  and  past  the  carriages  is  extremely  trying.  But  you  endeavor 
to  appear  as  if  you  thought  nobody  was  looking  at  you,  and  right 
glad  are  you  when  all  is  over,  and  you  are  yourself  again. 

"  '  This,  Mr.  Transcript,  is  the  style  in  which  people  bathe  during 
the  season,  on  the  town  beach,  here  in  Newport,  The  gathering  is, 
on  the  whole,  about  as  democratic  a  one  in  appearance  as  I  have  seen 
this  many  a  day.  Old  and  young,  men,  women,  and  children,  splash- 
ing and  capering  about  in  their  strange  costume,  form  an  amusing  if 
not  an  impressive  picture.  Certain  dresses  there  are,  here  and  there, 
in  the  crowd,  which  faintly  suggest  the  tasteful  and  becoming  ;  but 
for  the  most  part  they  are  nearer  the  frightful  in  their  appearance. 
The  angel  of  the  dining-hall  and  the  drawing-room  is  often  trans- 
formed into  a  scarecrow  when  she  has  made  ready  for  the  bath  ;  and 
in  this  locality  you  cannot  help  being  reminded  of  the  fact  that  some 
persons  are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made. 

"  '  I  sat,  after  my  bath  was  over,  on  the  long  bench  at  the  end  of 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  85 

the  beach.  A  red-haired  man  next  me  was  facetious,  sarcastic,  and 
communicative.  "  'Taint  no  use,"  quoth  he,  "for  them  women  to 
think  they  can  humbug  people  when  they  go  in  here  a-bathing.  They 
have  to  leave  their  toggery  behind  'em,  and  then  we  know  wot's  wot." 
I  listened  in  respectful  silence.  "  But  I  can  tell,"  continued  he,  with 
a  knowing  air,  "  whether  they  '11  look  well  in  the  water,  jest  as  soon 
as  I  put  my  eye  on  "em."  Just  then  a  remarkably  stout  lady  rolled 
through  the  water  like  a  porpoise,  and  walked  as  majestically  as  pos- 
sible up  the  beach.  "  I  declare  !  "  exclaimed  my  neighbor,  "  there  'a 
a  woman  at  our  house  who  feels  bad  'bout  bathing  here,  because  she  'a 
BO  fat.  I  '11  go  home  and  tell  her  she  need  n't  be  afraid,  after  that 
ere  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounder  has  showed  herself."  And  on  this 
benevolent  errand  the  red-haired  man  departed.' 


"  Now,  '  there 's  a  letter  what  is  a  letter,' "  continued 
Fanny  ;  "  sea-bathing  in  full." 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Catchpenny, 
with  an  air  of  modesty  which  ill  suited  her  character 
and  low-dressed  bosom. 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  rejoined  Fanny ;  "  many  a  frolick  I  have 
had  with  the  beaux  in  bath,  and  I  think  I  rather  prefer 
them  at  this  time  than  any  other." 

"  I  do,  I  'm  sure,"  spoke  up  Laura  ;  "it  is  such  glori- 
ous fun  to  roll  with  them  in  the  surf.  One  feels  so  safe 
in  the  arms  of  a  gallant  swimmer." 

"  Why,  aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself,  Laura,"  ex- 
claimed her  mother,  "to  run  on  in  this  sort  of  way? 
Do  be  a  little  m'ore  circumspect." 

"  Why,  mother,  where  's  the  harm  ?  "  returned  Laura. 
"  You  know  the  French  saying,  '  honi  soit  que  mal  y 
pense.'" 

"  I  know  all  about  your  French  sayings,"  replied  Mrs. 
Catchpenny,  warmly  ;  "  I  tell  you  no  good  can  come  of 
these  salt  water  intimacies." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  roared  Julia  ;  "  why, 
bless  you,  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  it  is  so  delightful !  Re- 
member, you  were  young  once,  and  full  of  hot  blood." 

"  Well,  I  don't  approve  of  such  intimacies,  I  tell 
you,"  returned  the  hostess,  earnestly. 

"  I  think  such  conduct  highly  indecorous,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Touchmenot,  passionately  and  proudly  ;  "  but  my 
daughter  is  so  headstrong  that  she  will  have  her  own 
way  in  all  things." 


86  THE   PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

"  And  what  is  the  use,  I  should  like  to  know,  in  hav- 
ing one's  way,"  said  Laura,  "  unless  one  can  exercise 
it?" 

"  That 's  just  what  I  should  like  to  know,"  spoke  up 
Fanny.  "  No  girls,  now-a-days,  who  are  at  all  fashion- 
able, play  the  prude." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  ladies,  entirely,"  said  the  young 
man,  smiling  ;  "  prudish  people  are  not  at  all  fashion- 
able ;  but  I  think,  perhaps,  it  would  be  well  if  they 
were  a  little  so,  —  I  do,  most  positively." 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  spoke  Laura,  rather  sharply.  "There, 
I  always  said  you  were  a  strange  man.  Here  you  are 
talking  just  contrary  to  what  you  said  only  a  day  or 
two  since." 

"  Why,  you  don't  expect,  I  hope,  anybody  to  be  of 
the  same  mind  at  all  times,"  returned  William  ;  "  to  re- 
member all  their  small  talk  from  day  to  day,  and  never 
contradict  themselves." 

"  Why,  they  ought  to,  I  'm  sure,"  replied  Laura,  "  if 
they  have  any  regard  to  the  good  opinion  of  their 
friends." 

"  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Touchmenot,"  said  Andrews,  "  I 
have  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you,  which  has  been 
long  on  my  mind  ;  but  an  opportunity  has  never  before 
offered." 

"  What  is  it,  sir  ?  I  shall  be  pleased  to  hear  you," 
returned  the  lady,  in  a  most  dignified  manner. 

"Some  time  since,"  rejoined  Andrews,  "there  was 
sent  to  my  house  a  piece  of  poetry  subscribed  with  the 
initials  of  my  name,  and  addressed  to  you,  Miss  Julia. 
The  poetry  had  been  read,  evidently  by  you,  as  the 
seal  was  broken  ;  and,  bearing  my  initials,  it  was  re- 
turned to  me,  I  presume,  as  the  author.  At  the  time,  I 
was  not  at  home.  It  was  received  by  the  servant,  and 
placed  behind  the  looking-glass,  where  it  remained  for 
six  months,  before  coming  under  my  notice.  I  was  on 
the  point  of  returning  it  to  you,  but  deemed  it  too  trifling 
a  matter  to  pursue,  thinking  perhaps  I  should  some 
time  or  other  have  an  opportunity  of  explaining  the  mat- 
ter to  you  in  person." 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  87 

"Then  you  did  not  write  it,  Mr.  Andrews?"  interro- 
gated Mrs.  Touchmenot,  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  Madam,  whenever  I  write  poetry  to  a  lady,"  replied 
the  young  man,  with  an  air  of  unusual  dignity,  "I  al- 
ways, in  the  first  place,  assure  myself  it  will  be  well  re- 
ceived and  appreciated  ;  in  the  second  place,  I  always 
avoid  doggerel ;  in  the  third  place,  I  faithfully  observe 
the  rules  of  grammar.  Now,  this  verse  to  which  I  al- 
lude as  returned  to  me,  is  deficient  in  all  of  these  three 
respects.  Therefore  I  cannot,  madam,  be  the  author. 
Indeed, your  daughter,  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  is  the  last  per- 
son in  the  world  who  would  be  likely  to  invoke  my 
muse." 

This  was  a  most  unexpected  announcement,  and  the 
aristocratic  lady  was  in  quite  a  flutter.  She  scarcely 
knew  what  to  say.  The  blood  mounted  to  her  face,  by 
which  a  candle  might  almost  have  been  lighted.  Young 
Andrews  saw  her  embarrassment,  yet  made  no  attempt 
whatever  to  relieve  her  from  it,  enjoying  heartily  the 
snobs  discomforture.  Julia  also  was  keenly  sensible  of 
the  clerk's  intention  in  the  remark  he  had  made  ;  but  she 
discovered  much  less  emotion  than  her  conceited,  ignor- 
ant mamma. 

Laura,  who  instantly  perceived  the  mischief  done, 
cast  a  sly  look  at  Andrews,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  your 
muse,  then,  is  no  Democrat ;  for  according  to  your  own 
showing  it  won't  respond  to  every  beauty's  charms.  I 
wonder  if /could  get  a  couplet  from  it." 

"  No,  Miss  Laura,  you  could  not ;  and  I  will  tell  you 
why,"  responded  Andrews.  "  With  me,  poetry  is  a  sa- 
cred thought,  and  should  be  written  only  where  there  is 
the  taste  and  disposition  to  cherish  it ;"  and  as  he  pro- 
nounced these  words  his  countenance  glowed  with 
great  fervor.  After  a  moment's  pause  he  continued, 
"  The  beautiful  and  true  have  but  little  interest  to  the 
worldling, — to  those  whose  habits  are  in  direct  oppo- 
sition to  their  own  consciences  and  the  laws  of  God." 

"  Rather  severe,  Mr.  Andrews  ;  rather  severe,  sir, 
are  you  not?"  inquired  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  quite  morti- 
fied and  embarrassed  at  the  turn  conversation  had 
taken. 


88  THE   PENN1MANS  J     OB, 

"  There,  I  knew  I  was  right,"  said  Laura,  "  when  I 
gave  it  as  my  opinion  that  Mr.  Andrews  is  a  riddle  hard 
to  be  understood." 

"Really  —  upon  my  word,"  remarked  Julia,  "I  be- 
gin to  think  you  are  right." 

"  Mr.  Andrews,  excuse  me,  sir,  but  is  there  not  insan- 
ity in  your  family  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  burst- 
ing with  spleen.  "Has  there  not  been,  somewhere 
along  your  illustrious  line,  a  crack-brain  ?  " 

"Ay,  madam,  several,"  responded  our  hero,  quite 
cool,  and  apparently  unconscious  of  the  sarcasm  ;  ' '  but 
they  have  always  had  wit  enough  to  conceal  their  lu- 
nacy, and  to  pass  for  honest,  upright,  influential  men. 
I  suppose,  madam,  about  three-fifths  of  human  kind  are 
more  or  less  unsound  in  the  reasoning  powers  ;  so  you 
may  judge  what  your  chance  and  your  daughter's  is  of 
exemption." 

"Why,  Mr.  Andrews!  I  am  —  I  am  —  surprised!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  with  great  earnestness, 
"  that  —  you  —  should  — " 

"  Now,  I  beg  of  you,  madam,  don't  turn  a  little  badi- 
nage into  an  affront  to  anybody,"  interrupted  the  young 
man,  quite  self-possessed.  "  You  know  how  impossible 
it  is  to  be  talkative,  with  any  degree  of  wit,  without 
being  somewhat  open  to  the  charge  of  rudeness.  You 
understand,  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  how  this  is,  of  course. 
A  lady  who  has  been  in  so  much  excellent  society — " 

"  The  first  society  1 "  interrupted  the  indignant  lady, 
"  both  in  this  country  and  in  Europe,  sir." 

"  Certainly,  madam  ;  the  first,  of  course,"  rejoined  our 
hero,  not  at  all  discomposed  ;  "  that  was  the  idea  I  in- 
tended to  convey  by  excellent." 

The  Touchmenots,  highly  incensed  at  what  they  re- 
garded as  plebeian  insolence,  rose  instantly  from  the 
table,  and  withdrew  from  the  room,  after  stating  as  a 
reason  that  it  was  so  hot  and  uncomfortable  they  could 
not  remain  longer.  Mrs.  Catchpenny  urged  them  to  be 
seated  again  ;  so,  likewise,  did  Laura  and  Fanny ;  but 
all  solicitation  was  in  vain ;  Mrs.  Touchmenot  and 
daughter  were  in  a  high  state  of  indignant  fever,  which 
never  would  break  so  long  as  they  continued  in  the 


THE   TRIUMPH   OP   GENIUS.  89 

presence  of  young  Andrews  ;  for  they  heartily  despised 
him,  and  he  in  return  regarded  them,  as  he  did  weakness 
in  general,  as  marks  for  ridicule,  jest,  and  every  mani- 
festation of  corrective  wit.  Julia  seemed  to  him  to  be 
an  especial  subject  for  the  satirist ;  as  a  more  brainless, 
and  at  the  same  time  pretensious  lady,  was  not  to  be 
found  in  any  of  the  mixed  or  unmixed  sets  of  "  Modern 
Society." 

As  she  and  her  mother  left  the  tea-table,  they  cast  on 
the  "  audacious  clerk  "  a  look  of  what  they  deemed, 
doubtless,  withering  scorn,  but  which  to  young  An- 
drews appeared  more  like  the  impotency  of  a  shallow 
wit. 

No  sooner  had  this  mock  dignity  vanished  from  the 
room,  than  Mrs.  Catchpenny  exclaimed,  "  Well,  Mr. 
Andrews,  you  have  been  most  unfortunate,  sir,  —  most 
unfortunate !  "  and  as  she  said  this,  she  resumed  her 
seat  at  the  table. 

"And  pray,  madam,  in  what  respect?"  responded 
the  young  man,  affecting  amazement. 

"  You  have  subjected  us  to  the  charge  of  entertaining 
at  our  table  persons  of  no  breeding.  This,  this,  sir,  is 
what  the  Touchmenots  will  say  of  us  in  society,  which 
is  very  embarrassing,  —  very  embarrassing  indeed,  sir." 

"  Then  they  are  really  offended  ?  "  said  our  hero,  seri- 
ously. "  Upon  my  word,  how  difficult  to  be  entertain- 
ing, and  at  the  same  time  harmless." 

"  But  you  were  rude,  positively  rude,  Mr.  Andrews," 
replied  the  hostess.  "  I  have  never  met  with  a  person 
claiming  to  be  a  gentleman  that  was  more  so.  The 
Touchmenots  left  the  house  in  a  great  passion,  and  de- 
clared they  would  never  darken  my  doors  again.  Now, 
here  are  people,  whose  acquaintance  we  were  at  no  little 
trouble  to  make,  absolutely  driven  from  the  house  by 
your  facetiousness." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,  I  am  very  sorry,"  rejoined 
Andrews  ;  "  and  never  will  I  be  found  again,  so  long  as 
I  live,  with  persons  of  Mrs.  Touchmenot's  dignity.  I 
do  assure  you  it  is  most  painful  to  me  to  have  given  so 
much  offence." 

"A  little  more  discretion,  Mr.  Andrews,  —  a  little 


90  THE   PENNIMANS  ',     OR, 

more  discretion,"  rejoined  the  hostess,  "and  you  would 
do  very  well ;  but  you  do  so  lack  judgment." 

"  I  know  that  is  a  great  weakness,"  returned  he ; 
"but  of  one  thing  you  may  be  assured:  this  is  much 
more  manifest  to  you  than  to  your  husband,  who  fre- 
quently has  complimented  me  for  my  "good,  sound 
common  sense  in  all  business  matters." 

"  Business  matters  !  "  reiterated  Mrs.  Catchpenny  ; 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  business  matters  have  to 
do  with  refined  society." 

"  But,  my  dear  madam,  first  tell  me  what  refined  so- 
ciety is  ;  then  it  is  possible  I  may  be  able  to  demonstrate 
to  you  that  true  refinement  and  business  habits  and  mat- 
ters are  more  intimately  connected  than  you  are  willing 
to  allow." 

"  God  save  us  from  democratic  notions  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  I  wish  I  had  been  born  anywhere 
but  in  this  disgusting  country,  where  the  rabble  rule, 
and  no  one  is  in  their  proper  place,  —  where  all  are 
crowding  and  kicking  one  another,  in  their  race  for  pop- 
ularity and  power." 

"  It  is  a  rule  with  me  to  be  satisfied  with  what  I  have 
and  am,"  rejoined  young  Andrews.  "As  to  democracy, 
I  can  see  no  objection  to  the  principle,  provided  it  is 
not  abused." 

"  I  despise  the  doctrine  of  equality !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Catchpenny,  "  and  hope  to  mercy  there  will  be  a  revo- 
lution, before  a  great  while,  to  explode  the  idea.  Where 
everybody  are  equal,  I  should  like  to  know  what  sort 
of  social  harmony  or  order  can  be  expected  ;  that 's  what 
/should  like  to  know." 

William,  observing  the  irritated  condition  of  Mrs. 
Catchpenny's  mind,  deemed  it  most  prudent,  as  he  had 
finished  his  supper,  to  bid  the  company  good  evening, 
and  withdraw.  He  perceived  the  mischief  he  had  done 
was  a  sore  wound  to  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  and  by  no  means 
over  relished  by  the  daughters  ;  and  he  thought  it  was 
altogether  useless  to  remain  with  them  longer,  for  the 
purpose  of  counteracting  the  passions  which  had  been 
aroused  ;"so,  excusing  himself  as  well  as  he  could,  the 


THE   TRIUMPH    OF   GENIUS.  91 

confidential  clerk  left  the  tea-table,  and  made  his  way  to 
the  street. 

The  Catchpennys  were  now  alone.  They  did  not  re- 
main long  at  the  tea-table,  after  our  hero  had  departed, 
but  withdrew  to  the  parlors,  which  were  superbly  fur- 
nished and  brilliantly  lighted.  We  will  not  undertake 
to  describe  the  arrangement  of  the  dwelling,  nor  the  el- 
egance of  the  furniture.  Suffice  it  to  say,  wealth  had 
been  lavished  with  a  liberal  hand,  to  make  acceptable  to 
this  class  in  general,  and  to  the  Catchpennys  in  particu- 
lar, their  residence  and  its  appointments.  Nothing  was 
wanting  in  luxury  or  convenience  ;  it  was  a  model  fash- 
ionable establishment,  —  one  of  the  head-quarters  of 
presumption. 

Mrs.  Catchpenny  had  thrown  herself  on  the  sofa,  still 
greatly  disturbed  by  what  had  passed  at  the  tea-table. 
She  was  not  a  woman  easily  subdued,  when  once  her 
mind  was  thoroughly  excited  by  either  anger  or  disap- 
pointment. Laura  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and  com- 
menced a  pretty  air  from  Sonambula,  whilst  Fanny 
amused  herself  with  Longfellow's  "  Hiawatha,"  one  of 
the  most  beautifully  descriptive  poems  in  the  English 
language. 

Presently  the  door-bell  rung,  and  a  young  gentleman 
was  ushered  into  the  parlor.  He  wore  a  moustache  that 
stretched  itself  out  some  distance  from  the  lip,  and  gave 
him  more  the  appearance  of  a  wildcat  than  a  man.  His 
name  was  James  Simpleton.  His  visits  were  more  to 
Miss  Laura  than  to  Fanny,  although  the  latter  was  quite 
a  favorite. 

"It's  a  fine  evening,  Laura,"  observed  the  youth, 
after  the  usual  greetings  ;  "  a  very  fine  evening.  By  the 
way,  have  you  been  out  to-day  —  ah  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Fanny  and  I  were  on  Washington-street,  this 
afternoon,  where  we  walked  for  some  little  time,  then 
went  round  the  Common." 

"Ah  —  well,  who  did  you  see?"  interrogated  the 
beau,  twirling  his  moustache  with  his  fingers. 

"  Oh,  lots  of  fools,"  said  Fanny,  turning  over  a  leaf 
of  Hiawatha. 

"Be  still,  Fanny,  be  still,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catch- 


92  THE    PEXXIMANS  !     OR, 

penny,  "  if  you  can't  be  a  little  more  refined  in  your  ex- 
pressions." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  who  we  saw,"  returned  Laura ;  "  those 
Inconceivables,  who  have  struggled  for  so  many  years 
to  be  somebodies." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  roared  the  youth  ;  "  you  are  rather 
severe  on  the  Inconceivables,  are  you  not  —  ah  ?  " 

"No  she  isn't,  not  a  bit,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny. "  Those  people  have  worked  harder  than  any- 
body I  know  of  to  get  into  our  set." 

"  Well,  they  've  succeeded,  have  n't  they  ?  "  queried 
Mr.  Simpleton.  "  That's  more  than  a  good  many  others 
have  done  —  ah." 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  how  they  are  laughed  at,"  said 
Fanny;  "old  Mrs.  Inconceivable  in  particular." 

"  Mechanics  !  I  must  say  I  don't  altogether  like  the 
idea  of  associating  with  mechanics,"  spoke  up  Mrs. 
Catchpenny,  "however  public  spirited  and  virtuous 
they  may  be  ;  and  if  I  mistake  not,  Mr.  Simpleton,  this 
is  about  your  feeling,  as  it  must  be  the  feeling  of  all  our 
'best  families.' ' 

""Ah — well,  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I 
must  say  I  was  born  and  bred  an  aristocrat,"  replied 
the  youth  ;  "  but  nevertheless,  I  have  no  little  respect 
for  and  sympathy  with  hard-working  people.  As  to 
these  Inconceivables,  I  am  disposed  to  tolerate  them,  on 
the  principle  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  keeping  any 
set  or  circle,  in  this  country,  truly  select ;  so  I  say  if  this 
family  and  others  want  to  rise,  and  struggle  hard  to  do 
so,  why  let  them.  We  've  all,  probably,  been  down,  in 
the  persons  of  our  ancestry,  at  some  time  or  other.  So 
let  us  not  be  too  hard  on  others  —  ah." 

"You  are  very  just,  indeed,  Mr.  Simpleton,"  ex- 
claimed Laura;  "  and  it  seems  to  me  that  all  who  can 
rise  ought  to  ;  only  don't  let  them  put  on  airs,  that 's 
all ;  —  don't  let  them  try  to  put  down  their  betters,  so 
soon  as  they  are  permitted  intercourse  with  them." 

"Oh,  I  am  very  much  amused,"  said  Fanny,  "at 
many  persons  who  are  struggling  to  get  into  our  set. 
For  instance,  there  are  the  Paddingtons  ;  they  are  about 
on  a  par  with  the  Inconceivables,  and  certainly  have  as 


THE   TRIUMPH   OP   GENIUS.  93 

much  claim  to  preferment ;  but  some  how  or  other  they 
don't  rise." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  is,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny ;  "  that  Mrs.  Paddington  is  so  proud  she  will  not 
take  the  usual  steps  of  working  in  with  us,  but  expects 
us,  I  suppose,  in  admiration  of  her  personal  attractions 
and  stylish  mode  of  living,  to  beg  her  to  join  '  our  set ' ; 
and  this,  too,  when  she  is  dying  for  the  want  of  the 
privilege.  Was  there  ever  such  stupidity  heard  of. 
Just  as  though  we  or  any  of  '  our  set '  are  going  to  her! 
No  !  she  must  come  to  us ;  and  she  '11  find  this  out,  too, 
in  time,  I  '11  warrant  you." 

As  Mrs.  Catchpenny  concluded,  her  voice  assumed  a 
good  deal  of  passion.  She  was  evidently  provoked  at 
the  idea  of  any  person's  supposing  she  would  put  her- 
self out  to  gain  even  the  most  pretending  over  to  her 
society.  As  she  had  stooped,  and  stooped  very  low, 
too,  to  ingratiate  herself  into  the  "  best  society,"  she 
was  determined  this  should  be  the  condition  on  which 
all  others  should  enter.  Mrs.  Catchpenny  was  a  curi- 
ous woman,  but  not  unlike  the  majority  of  those  who 
composed  her  exclusive  set.  She  was  heartless  and 
worldly,  and  so  were  they  all. 

Laura  and  Fanny  continued  in  conversation  with  the 
young  man,  laughing  at  and  ridiculing  many,  both  in 
and  out  of  their  set.  Laura  was  an  exceedingly  envious 
young  lady,  and  delighted  in  back-biting.  This  was 
her  chief  amusement.  Fanny,  evidently  of  this  disposi- 
tion, was  not  so  much  inclined  to  indulge  it  as  her  sis- 
ter ;  for  she  knew  less  of  the  world,  and  had  met  with 
no  disappointments.  Mr.  Simpleton  was  just  such  a 
person  as  Laura  was  pleased  to  talk  with,  because  he 
appeared  to  enter  into  her  feelings,  and  laughed  at  her 
railery. 

We  will  not  detail  the  conversation  which  passed  be- 
tween the  young  man  and  the  Catchpennys,  but  will 
declare  it,  in  general  terms,  to  have  been,  on  the  part 
of  the  ladies,  full  of  envy,  malice,  and  all  uncharitable- 
ness.  Mrs.  Catchpenny  vowed  vengeance  on  Andrews, 
whom  we  are  to  meet  again  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Intrust  thy  fortune  to  the  powers  above  ; 
Leave  them  to  manage  for  thee,  and  to  grant 
What  their  unerring  wisdom  sees  thee  want." 

PASSING  from  this  abode  of  sensuality  and  impotent 
pomposity,  we  will  ask  the  reader  to  "follow  us  in  pur- 
suit of  young  Andrews,  who,  upon  gaining  the  street, 
directed  his  steps  towards  the  Public  Garden,  into  which 
he  entered,  and  passed  on  to  the  seats  then  located  near 
the  Mill  Dam.  Upon  one  of  these  he  threw  himself,  and 
burst  into  immoderate  laughter.  "  The  Catchpennys," 
he  remarked  to  himself,  so  soon  as  he  was  able  to  give 
expression  to  his  thoughts,  "have  had  enough  of  me  for 
this  year,  at  least ;  and  I  am  quite  sure  the  Touchme- 
nots  will  not  be  anxious  for  my  company  the  balance  of 
their  lives.  Tea,  to  be  sure  !  So  I  must  be  dragged 
in  to  tea,  only  to  be  kicked  out  after.  Poor  creatures  ! 
how  ignorant  they  are,  in  all  their  crinoline  and  splen- 
dor! They  ride  in  their  carriage,  and  assume  to  be 
.first,  while  their  coachman  could  school  them  in  good 
sound  sense  and  practical  wisdom.  Poor  creatures  I 
what  delusion  marks  their  lives,  and  the  lives,  in  fact, 
of  all  who  exist  solely  for  the  gratification  of  their 
pride." 

Andrews  had  but  just  concluded,  when  the  moon 
broke  through  a  heavy  cloud,  which  for  some  time  had 
shut  it  out  from  view ;  and  so  struck  was  he  with  its 
clearness,  its  soft,  mellow  brightness,  that  he  stretched 
himself  on  the  bench,  and  fell  into  a  profound  revery. 
The  moon  !  who  has  not  come  under  its  influence  ?  — 
who  has  not  yielded  to  its  magnetism,  and  lost  them- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  x   95 

selves  in  the  contemplation  of  its  fascinating  power,  in 
conjunction  with  those  lesser  lights  that  twinkle  in  their 
far  distant  spheres  ? 

"  Where  all  sighs  are  deposited  ;  and  now, 
It  happened  luckily,  the  chaste  orb  shone 

As  clear  as  northern  clime  allows  ; 
The  lover,  poet,  or  astronomer, 

Shepherd  or  swain,  whoever  may  behold, 
Feel  some  abstraction  when  they  gaze  on  her." 

Our  hero  lay  motionless,  gazing  on  these  glorious 
mysteries,  when  suddenly  escaped  his  lips  the  following 
quotation  from  Don  Juan : 

"  '  Oh,  good  society  !  —  't  is  but  a  game, 

The  royal  game  of  goose,  as  I  may  say, 
Where  everybody  has  some  separate  aim, 
An  end  to  answer,  or  a  plan  to  lay,  — 
The  single  ladies  wishing  to  be  double, 
The  married  ones  to  save  the  virgins  trouble.' 

"Poor  Mrs.  Touchmenot  and  her  daughter  Julia!"  con- 
tinued he  ;  "  would  they  could  know  how  ridiculous  they 
and  their  set  appear  to  sensible,  thorough-bred  people  ! 
—  would  they  could  look  upon  this  gorgeous  sky,  and 
learn  humility  from  its  imposing  grandeur !  But  no, 
their  leaden  thoughts  do  not  rise  above  the  fatest  fash- 
ion and  the  sayings  and  doings  of  itsvoteries.  What  to 
them  is  nature,  through  which  God  speaks,  to  those  who 
seek  him,  with  a  visible,  tangible  presence,  —  an  ever- 
living  reality !  What  to  them  is  goodness,  love  ?  Mere 
airy  nothings,  without  a  local  habitation  or  a  name." 

A  footstep,  coupled  with  a  sigh,  now  startled  him, 
when,  raising  his  head- from  the  bench,  he  beheld  a  female 
form  standing  near,  habited  in  black,  and  screened  by  a 
dark,  heavy  veil.  He  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment,  then 
politely  invited  her  to  be  seated.  She  seemed  reluctant 
to  rest  herself,  and  moved  off,  with  a  slow  step,  towards 
the  Mill  Dam,  without  having  spoken  a  word.  Her 
bearing  was  that  of  a  lady,  and  her  figure  of  classic 
mould. 

The  young  man's  first  impulse  was  to  follow  her,  but 


96  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

the  sober,  second  thought  prevailed,  and  he  remained 
on  the  bench,  exceedingly  curious  to  know  something 
of  the  personage  that  had  just  passed  on.  It  was  be- 
tween eight  and  nine  of  the  clock,  and  there  appeared  to 
be  no  one  in  the  garden  save  this  woman  and  himself, 
if  we  except  an  individual  who  was  reclining  under  the 
young  trees  at  some  distance.  A  mystery  seemed  to 
attach  itself  to  her,  which  young  Andrews  was  very  de- 
sirous to  solve ;  and,  indeed,  her  presence  had  so  ex- 
cited him,  —  so  filled  him  with  a  certain  indiscribable 
perturbation,  that  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  followed 
directly  in  her  steps. 

As  he  came  up,  she  suddenly  turned  about,  and,  in  a 
resolute,  clear  voice,  said,  "  What  do  you  want,  sir  ?  " 

Our  hero  was  somewhat  startled  at  her  manner,  and 
for  a  moment  lost  his  self-possession ;  on  regaining 
which  he  thus  replied,  "  I  am  not  surprised,  good  lady, 
that  you  are  so  severe.  I  have  approached  you  unre- 
quested,  and  desire  no  better  reception.  But  pardon 
me  if  I  ask  what,  at  this  hour  of  the  evening,  brings 
you,  unattended,  to  this  lonely  spot  ?  " 

The  woman  turned  away,  and,  uttering  no  word, 
walked  on,  but  not  without  having  discovered  something 
of  her  features,  which  were  dimly  to  be  seen  through  the 
veil,  by  the  light  of  the  moonbeams.  They  were  well 
formed,  and  appeared  to  him  chaste  and  beautiful. 
Now,  more  than  ever,  he  was  resolved  to  discover,  if 
possible,  who  this  mysterious  being  might  be,  and  again 
put  himself  in  pursuit. 

As  he  approached,  she  slackened  her  pace,  and  when 
he  drew  near,  she  boldly  confronted  him,  saying,  "Fol- 
low me,  sir,  another  step,  and  you  are — ' 

"  Oh,  be  not  angry,  lady,"  interrupted  Andrews,  not 
at  all  embarrassed  by  the  harsh  manner  of  the  female  ; 
"  be  not  angry.  Do  you  suppose  there  is  any  power  on 
earth  can  deter  me  from  executing  my  firm  resolve  to 
know  who  and  what  you  are  ?  Follow  you  I  will,  and 
fifty  lives,  had  I  them  to  give,  would  be  freely  offered 
for  some  knowledge  of  so  strange  a  being." 

"  Ah,  you  seek  to  know  me,"  returned  the  woman, 
warily ;  "  but  wherefore  ?  I  am  not  thy  equal,  per- 


THE   TRIUMPH   OF   GENIUS.  97 

chance.     What  wouldst  thou  with  a  knowledge   of 
me?" 

"  Your  figure,  your  bearing,  have  aroused  my  imagi- 
nation," replied  the  young  man.  "  I  must,  I  will  know 
you  I  " 

"You  call  me  a  lady,"  returned  the  woman;  "how 
know  you  that  ? "  and  as  she  spoke,  she  turned  and 
walked  away. 

The  young  man  hesitated  a  moment,  and  was  about 
relinquishing  his  purpose,  when  there  was  an  interior, 
audible  command,  in  these  words,  —  "Follow  her." 
Again  he  was  in  pursuit,  and  upon  overtaking  the  wo- 
man, she  received  him  with  less  displeasure,  of  which 
he  was  not  slow  to  avail. 

"  So,  you  do  not  love  the  world,"  remarked  the 
woman,  in  a  deep,  sad  tone.  "  Has  it  not  used  you 
well  ? " 

"Yes,  much  better  than  I  deserve,  doubtless,"  re- 
turned our  hero.  "  I  love  it  not,  because  it  is  so  prone 
to  evil." 

"Ah,  that  is  it,"  rejoined  the  woman;  "then  you 
would  have  men  and  things  more  perfect,  —  you  would 
be,  perhaps,  a  reformer.  Well,  God  knows  there  is 
need  of  reform  in  every  department  and  phase  of  life." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  come,"  rejoined  the  young  man, 
"  tell  me  something  of  yourself,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Why  need  you  care  for  me  ? "  replied  the  female, 
carelessly.  "  We  never  met  before ;  we  may  never 
meet  again." 

"  But  we  shall  meet  again ! "  exclaimed  the  young 
man,  in  a  resolute  tone  ;  "and,  if  I  mistake  not,  we  have 
met  before." 

"  Where,  oh,  where  ?"  interrogated  the  woman,  with 
evident  surprise. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  or  know  of  an  old  beggar  man, 
by  the  name  of  Throckmorton  ? "  inquired  Andrews, 
earnestly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied   the  woman,  nervously,  "very 
well.    He  had  a  pretty  dog,  called  '  Bone,'  who  loved  me 
very  much,  and  was  often  at  my  room." 
5 


X 
98  THE    PENNIMANS  ]     OR, 

"Then  you  resided  in  the  neighborhood  of  this  beg- 
gar?" interrogated  Andrews. 

"Yes,  with  my  mother,  in  a  small  house  opposite," 
returned  the  female.  "There  was  a  family  by  the  name 
of  Andrews,  who  was  very  kind  to  old  Throckmorton, 
particularly  the  little  boy,  of  whom  mother  used  to  say 
he  was  the  handsomest  and  most  manly  child  she  ever 
saw." 

"You  lived  opposite,  you  say?"  interrogated  young 
Andrews. 

"Yes,  directly  opposite,"  returned  his  companion. 

"I  remember  you  quite  well,"  rejoined  our  hero; 
"and  what  is  still  more  strange,  I  dreamed  last  night, 
I  should  see  you.  Know  that  I  was  that  little  boy,  — 
the  beggar's  friend." 

"What,  you,  —  are  you  Willie  Andrews,"  interro- 
gated the  female,  unable  to  conceal  her  surprise,  "whom 
we  used  to  think  of  and  speak  of  so  often, — whom,  in- 
deed, everybody  in  our  neighborhood  loved  so  well  ? " 

"  And  are  you  Agnes  Farriday,  who  sang  so  sweetly 
with  the  guitar,  and  lived  in  a  small  house  just  oppo- 
site?" again  inquired  the  young  man.  "You  moved 
away,  a  short  time  after  the  beggar's  death,  and  I  lost 
all  traces  of  you.  But  your  face  I  remember  well,  for 
it  is  the  only  face  I  ever  truly  loved!  Unveil  fully, 
will  you  not?" 

"Yes,"  returned  the  female,  "to  you,  yes!" 

She  threw  aside  her  veil,  and  by  the  mellow  moon- 
light he  beheld  the  supremely  beautiful  lace  of  Agnes 
Farriday.  When  he  last  looked  upon  it,  as  she  sat  by 
the  window  of  her  humble  home,  playing  the  guitar,  she 
was  but  a  girl.  She  is  now  a  well-developed  and  hand- 
some woman,  with  much  of  the  youthful  freshness  and 
feature  still  remaining  to  her  mature  years.  A  s  Andrews 
gazed  upon  her,  he  almost  fancied  she  was  yet  the  child 
of  his  early  remembrance.  He  had  never  forgotten  that 
sweet  face,  that  graceful  form ;  for  his  eye  was  that  of 
an  artist,  which  is  retentive  of  all  beautiful  impressions. 
It  seemed  to  him  like  a  dream  to  meet  again,  and  under 
such  circumstances,  the  only  being  on  earth  who  was 
associated  in  his  mind  with  all  that  was  lovely  and  de- 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  99 

sirable  in  woman.  He  felt  a  rapture  which  words  can- 
not faithfully  express,  and  much  of  his  delight  was  trans- 
mitted to  his  beautiful  companion ;  for  she  believed 
herself  an  object  of  no  common  interest  to  this  young 
man,  who  had  sought  and  made  her  acquaintance 
through  opposition,  led  on,  as  it  were,  by  the  spirit. 
He  had  dreamed  that  he  should  meet  her  on  that  day, 
to  which  he  gave  no  heed  until  observing  the  mysteri- 
ous figure  in  the  garden,  when  his  dream  immediately 
occurred  to  him,  and  he  resolved  to  pursue  her;  and, 
when  about  to  relinquish  his  purpose,  audible  was  the 
whisper,  or  spiritual  impression,  to  "follow  her."  He 
obeyed,  and  ample  he  deemed  his  reward;  for  he  had 
found  in  this  mysterious  being  a  woman  to  love. 

"Tell  me,  Mr.  Andrews,"  said  Agnes,  "tell  me  what 
has  become  of  Bone.  Is  he  dead,  or  alive?" 

"Bone?  why  he  is  alive,  and  in  finer  spirits  than 
ever,"  returned  our  hero. 

"I  should  like  to  own  that  noble  dog,"  rejoined 
Agnes,  "very  much,  —  yes,  very  much;  he  has  such  a 
musical  ear." 

"He  is  mine  to  give,  and  he  shall  be  yours,  if  you 
will  accept  him,"  tenderly  rejoined  Andrews;  "but  I 
set  a  great  deal  by  Bone,  and  must  indeed  honor  her  to 
whom  I  would  give  him." 

"You  are  married,  are  you  not?"  queried  Agnes, 
coyly. 

"No,"  responded  Andrews.     "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  knew  of  a  Miss  Ida  Robertson,"  rejoined  Agnes, 
"  whom  report  said  you  were  much  attached  to.  I 
thought  perhaps  this  attachment  might  have  continued." 

"No,  no,"  replied  Andrews,  earnestly;  "she  can 
never  be  my  wife.  Wherever  I  place  my  affections,  and 
consequently  stake  my  happiness,  I  should  expect  a  true 
heart,  a  just  and  noble  character." 

"  That  is  well,"  replied  Agnes,  as  she  took  his  arm, 
and  walked  towards  the  Common.  "  I  am  now  going 
to  my  humble  home,  which  consists  of  a  small  house,  in 
the  north  part  of  the  city.  Will  you  accompany  me  ?  " 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure,"  replied  Andrews,  offering 
her  his  arm,  of  which  she  readily  availed. 


100  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OR, 

They  walked  together  up  Beacon-street.  At  some 
distance  behind  them  was  a  tall  individual,  muffled  in  a 
dark  cloak,  dogging  them,  whom  we  noticed  in  the  gar- 
den, by  the  trees.  But  as  they  were  close  in  conversa- 
tion, and  did  not  observe  particularly  even  the  passers 
by,  less  likely  would  they  be  to  discover  a  person  afar 
off  in  their  rear. 

Andrews  was  truly  happy  to  have  met  again  the  being 
he  had  never  ceased  to  think  of,  —  the  only  being  whose 
sweet  features  had  touched,  and  ineflfaceably,  his  emotion- 
al soul.  To  unite  her  fate  with  his,  was  the  future,  and 
one  of  the  most  cherished  purposes  of  his  life !  As  they 
walked  on  through  Tremont,  Court,  and  Hanover  Streets, 
so  much  engaged  were  they  with  the  happy  sentiments  of 
their  sympathetic  natures,  that  they  were  altogether  un- 
observant of  the  man  in  the  dark  cloak,  who  had  the  air 
of  a  gentleman,  and  by  whom  they  were,  at  some  little 
distance,  watchfully  pursued  ! 

D — n  him,  d — n  him,"  muttered  the  stranger,  "  he 
stands  in  my  path,  and  out  of  it  he  must  get,  or,  by  my 
soul,  he  dies  !  and  speedily.  As  he  said  this  his  eyes 
flashed  in  the  gas  light,  with  the  intensity  of  desperation. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


"  Of  strength  pernicious  to  myself  I  boast, 
The  powers  I  have  were  givea  me  to  my  coat." 

YOUNG  ANDREWS,  happy  in  a  degree,  never  before  ex- 
perienced, at  having  again  met  Agnes  Farriday,  after  so 
long  a  period  since  he  first  beheld  her  charming  face,  accom- 
panied her  to  the  dwelling  which  she  occupied  at  the  north 
part  of  the  city,  followed  closely  by  the  tall  man  in  a  dark 
cloak,  who  passed  and  repassed  them  several  times,  and  in 
such  close  proximity,  as  to  jostle  the  impetuous  and  high 
spirited  Andrews.  She  was  the  first  to  note  that  they  were 
pursued  by  this  mysterious  personage,  who  kept  his  face  so 
well  concealed  by  his  cloak  as  to  defy  detection.  Of  late 
she  had  been  very  much  annoyed,  by  a  man  who  had 
daily  passed  and  repassed  her  house,  and  who  had  addressed 
her  the  most  passionate  protestations  of  love,  which  she  had 
invariably  returned  to  the  source  from  whence  they  came. 
His  name  was  Rolston ;  a  lawyer  of  some  standing,  and  of 
"  one  of  our  first  families."  Agnes  believed  the  personage 
in  the  dark  cloak  to  be  him.  She,  therefore,  cautioned  An- 
drews to  be  on  his  guard,  as  it  was  well  known  that  Mr. 
Rolston  was  a  person  of  violent,  indeed,  desperate  passions, 
and  that  he  had  been  much  incenced  at  the  failure  of  his 
endeavors  to  win  her  friendship.  Agnes  did  not  doubt  the 
sincerity  of  his  sentiments,  but  she  could  not  respect  his 
habits,  which  were  those  of  a  fashionable  man,  fond  of  his 
wine,  the  gaming  table,  and  a  good  time,  generally.  He 
wished  to  marry  her,  and  he  frankly  told  her,  that  it  was 
her  beauty  which  he  loved.  If  there  was  a  being  on  earth 
for  whom  Miss  Farriday  had  a  loathing,  —  and  whose  society 
she  would  carefully  avoid,  — it  was  the  sensualist,  and  though 
Rolston  combined  many  attractions  for  most  any  woman, 
he  lacked  that  one  more  essential  than  all  the  rest  ia 
the  estimation  of  Agnes  —  virtue  !  And,  for  this  reason, 
and  this  alone,  she  denied  him  her  acquaintance.  This  refu- 


102  THE    PENNIJMANS  J     OR, 

sal  embittered  his  heart,  and  plunged  him  deeper  into  error 
than  ever.  He  gambled  with  greater  recklessness,  and 
treated  his  business  friends  in  such  a  loose,  indifferent  man- 
ner, that  his  practice  fell  off  to  a  degree,  that  only  added 
to  his  hate  of  the  world,  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  calling, 

since  his  unreturned  passion  for  Agnes,  "  a  d n  nest  of 

wasps !  "  Rolston  prided  himself  greatly  on  his  family, 
which  he  averred  was  descended  from  the  peerage  of  Eng- 
land ;  and  that  he  should  be  denied  the  acquaintance  of  an 
obscure,  though  lovely  woman,  whom  he  was  willing  to  mar- 
ry, outraged  his  vanity  and  lascerated  his  heart!  He 
watched  her  narrowly ;  and  as  we  have  seen,  was  in  the 
garden  on  the  evening  when  she  met  Andrews,  whither  he 
had,  unobserved,  pursued  her.  He  had  resolved  to  know  as 
much  of  her  habits  and  friendships  as  a  daring  and  vigilant 
espionage  would  permit.  In  the  heat  of  his  passion  he  had 
sworn,  no  .man  should  marry  her  but  him  !  Towards  An- 
drews, whom  he  well  knew,  he  entertained  a  fierce  and  bitter 
hatred ;  into  whose  heart  he  could  have  plunged  a  dagger, 
as  he  saw  his  lips  pressed  against  those  of  Farriday's,  on 
parting  with  her  at  the  door  of  her  neat  though  humble 
dwelling. 

As  the  young  man  passed  by  the  place  where  Rolston 
had  concealed  himself,  that  he  might,  unobserved,  note  the 
movements  of  both  parties,  he  was  joined  by  the  lawyer, 
who,  in  a  subdued  tone  of  passion  enquired,  "  How  long  he 
had  known  Miss  Farriday  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you,  sir,  that  I  should  be  catechised  thus  ?" 
interrogated  Andrews,  somewhat  startled  by  the  manner  of 
the  lawyer. 

"  My  name  is  William  Andrews ;  now,  for  yours,"  con- 
tinued our  hero.  "  I  must  know,  my  dear  sir,  who  and  what 
you  are." 

Rolston  drew  closer  about  his  face  his  dark  cloak,  and 
pulling  over  his  eyes  more  carefully  than  ever  his  felt  hat, 
said  : 

"  I,  sir,  am  a  man,  fully  your  peer,  if  not  your  superior  ; 
in  the  welfare  of  this  woman  I  have  a  brother's,  father's,  ay, 
lover's  interest  and  care.  I  demand  to  be  informed  how 
long  you  have  known  her,  and  what  may  be  your  inten- 
tions." 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  103 

"  If.  sir,"  rejoined  Andrews,  "  you  are  the  man  I  suspect 
you  to  be,  and  of  whom  she  has  warned  me,  I  tell  you  now, 
in  the  presence  of  yon  bright  moon,  that  I  defy  and  despise 
you.  If  your  name  is  Rolston,  you  are  a  scoundrel  for 
pursuing  one  who  forbids  your  addresses,  and  loathes  your 
character  ;  a  fellow,  sir,  with  whom  I  wish  no  commerce, 
and  for  whom  I  have  no  respect." 

"  These,  sir,  are  bold  words,"  returned  Rolston,  "  to  one 
too,  of  whose  passions  you  know  naught ;  what  if  I  should 
slay  you  on  the  spot  ?  " 

"  You  would  but  kill  one  who  does  not  fear  to  die ;  " 
replied  Andrews,  proudly  ;  "  and  whom  no  words  of  yours, 
or  mortal  man,  can  intimidate." 

"  I  like  your  pluck,  fellow,"  returned  Rolston,  "  and  I 
would  you  stood  not  in  my  way." 

"  I,  sir,  am  only  too  happy  to  be  thus  posted,"  replied  An- 
drews. "  If  you  are  Rolston,  as  I  believe  you  to  be,  I  would 
be  placed  not  otherwise,  since  you  pursue  a  woman,  who 
never  can,  and  never  shall  be  yours  I " 

"  Ay,  my  fine  fellow,  you  are  flippant ;  did  your  mother 
never  whip  you  for  your  twaddle  ? "  sarcastically  returned 
Rolston. 

"  It  matters  not  who,  nor  what  I  am ;  whether  Rolston,  or 
Pontius  Pilate  :  I  love  Agnes,  and  hate  all  those  who  oppose 
my  passion.  Beware,  beware,  young  man,  how  you  provoke 
me  ;  for  I  am  desperate  iu  this  cause,  and  will  die  a  thousand 
deaths  to  defeat  my  foes.  From  the  moment  I  first  beheld 
the  divine  face  and  form  of  Farriday,  I  was  inspired  to 
attempt  her  conquest,  and  eternally  damned  be  those  who 
aim  to  disappoint  my  hopes.  Death,  or  Agnes,  is  my  motto  ; 
death  to  her,  to  me,  and  all  who  intermeddle  !  " 

"  Be  it  so,  then,  thou  concealed  braggart,"  replied  An- 
drews ;"  who,  ashamed  of  open  converse,  belch  forth  brave 
sounds  from  beneath  a  mask  impenetrable.  "  I  tell  you 
here  and  now,  that  Agnes  is  mine  ;  nor  can  you,  nor  all  hell 
combined  dispossess  me  of  this  treasure.  It  was  my  boy- 
hood's first  delight ;  it  is  my  manhood's  glory  ! " 

"  Ah,  I  am  on  fire  with  hate.  This  determined  dog 
must  die ;  die,  and  now  ;  ay,  now,"  muttered  Rolston,  un- 
heard. Then  continued  he,  aloud,  "  Sir,  I  love  brave  men, 
and  by  your  speech  I  so  esteem  you ;  and  were  it  not  that 
you  are  my  foe,  I  would  embrace  you  as  a  brother  !  " 


104  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

"  I  have  freely  given  you  my  name, "  returned  Andrews  ; 
"  and  yet  yours  is  still  withheld.  I  can  hold  no  further 
conversation  with  one  whom  I  do  not  know.  Concealment 
is  no  way  of  mine." 

"  He  is  indeed  an  adversary  I  well  may  dread,  and  by  my 
soul,  he  dies  this  night.  He  shall  not  escape  me.  My  dagger, 
my  dagger,"  muttered  Rolston,  inaudibly.  Then  continued 
he,  aloud  :  "  Mr.  Andrews,  your  hand,  before  we  part.  You 
are  a  worthy,  brave  fellow,  and  I  honor  you.  The  gem  we 
both  do  covet  shall  be  thine,  and  thus  I  leave  it  with  thee, 
—  eternity !  "  At  these  words  he  sheathed  his  dagger  in 
the  bosom  of  our  hero,  and  fled,  while  Andrews  fell  heavily 
to  the  ground. 

Agnes,  apprehensive  that  a  difficulty  might  occur,  armed 
herself  with  a  revolver,  and  followed  Andrews  with  the 
intention  of  placing  it  in  his  possession.  Observing  him  in 
conversation  with  the  man  who  had  dogged  them,  and  whom 
she  supposed  to  be  Rolston,  she  concealed  herself  at  some 
little  distance  where  she  could  observe  their  movements. 
Impatient  at  their  parley,  she  was  about  to  return  home, 
when  she  saw  Andrews  fall,  and  Rolston  fleeing  directly 
towards  the  point,  at  which  she  stood.  The  cries  of  An- 
drews determined  her  to  confront  the  assassin  with  her  pis- 
tol, and  to  destroy  him  unless  he  submitted  to  arrest.  Her 
bold,  determined  manner,  brought  Rolston  to  a  stand.  Her 
loud  cries  of  murder  aroused  the  watch  and  the  neighbor- 
hood, who,  surrounding  the  murderer,  attempted  his  cap- 
ture ;  but  he  was  a  powerful  man,  and  used  his  weapon  so 
skillfully,  that  no  one  dared  arrest  him.  With  a  desperate 
rush  he  broke  through  the  crowd,  but  was  soon  again  sur- 
rounded and  taken.  Agnes  Farriday  had  gone  to  the 
assistance  of  Andrews.  She  found  with  him  a  physician, 
who  said  his  wound  was  mortal.  She  directed  that  he 
should  be  borne  to  her  house,  that  he  might  die  beneath  the 
roof  of  one  who  loved  him  tenderly.  Rolston,  in  a  moment 
.  of  desperation  at  learning  that  Andrews  was  dying,  and  in 
fear  of  the  testimony  of  Agnes,  pltnged  Ids  dagger  into  his 
own  breast,  exclaiming,  "  Thus  do  I  anticipate  the  law !  " 
He  begged  that  Agnes  might  be  brought  to  him,  as  there 
was  something  he  would  say  to  her.  The  excited  crowd 
made  way  as  Agnes  approached,  who,  standing  near  the 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  105 

prostrate  form  of  Rolston,  with  his  head  supported  by  a 
watchman,  listened  with  a  marble  countenance  to  this  des- 
perado's words. 

"  Agnes  Farriday,"  said  he,  in  a  voice  clear,  though 
weak,  "  on  thy  head  be  my  blood  and  that  of  Andrews. 
My  love  despised,  was  an  ever  wakeful  sorrow,  which 
now,  hath  end.  I  say  not  that  I  am  guilty  of  his  mur- 
der, but  I'm  pleased  that  it  is  so.  You  will  now 
have  learned  the  force  of  passion ;  and  when  again  some 
ardent,  reckless  soul  may  love  thy  beauty,  and  desire  thy 
heart,  thou  wilt  perhaps  remember  to  avoid  his  wrath  ;  for 
where  one's  love  is  deep,  woman  !  there  look  when  love  IB 
outraged  for  a  deeper  hate !  " 

"  Kolston,  much  as  you  have  wronged  me  in  the  murder 
of  one  dearer  to  me  than  life  itself,  1  can  and  do  forgive 
your  crime,"  returned  Agnes,  in  a  voice  of  rare  sweetness, 
which  moved  the  crowd  to  tears  ;  "  and  I  pray,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  that  God  may  have  mercy  on  your  soul."  "  Thy 
hand,  sweet  one,"  said  he,  in  the  faintest  whisper,  and  as 
he  took  the  small  delicate  hand  of  Agnes  in  his  own,  he 
breathed  his  last. 

Agnes  pushed  from  his  noble  massive  brow,  the  dark 
wavy  hair,  and  looking  full  in  his  determined  intellectual 
face,  said,  "  May  God  forgive  you  as  I  do,  thou  misguided 
man  !  "  The  crowd  again  made  way,  as  Agnes  passed  on 
to  her  dwelling,  whither  Andrews  had  been  borne  by  the 
physician.  As  they  looked  upon  her  majestic  countenance 
lit  by  a  dark,  deep,  and  courageous  eye,  many  were  the 
suppressed  exclamations,  in  laudation  of  her  chaste  beauty, 
which  were  all  unheeded  by  her,  however,  whose  soul  was 
wrapped  in  the  gloom  of  sorrow,  such  as  she  had  never 
before  experienced.  No  sooner  had  she  entered  the  room 
where  Andrews  lay  bleeding  from  his  wound,  than  she 
approached  his  couch,  and  bending  tenderly  over  him, 
kissed  his  cold,  damp  brow,  passionately,  while  his  full 
deep  blue  eyes  was  riveted  upon  her. 

"  Agnes,"  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  "  when  I  am  gone,  do 
not  forget  to  take  good  care  of  '  Bone  ; '  he  was  a  beg- 
gar's gift,  'tis  true ;  yet,  this  animal  was  an  early  love 
I'd  have  thee  cherish." 

"  Trust  my  fidelity  to  all  thou  ever  loved,"  replied  Ag- 
nes :  " I  will  live  in  thee"  ,  , 

o  * 


CHAPTER    X. 

<l  Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman." 

IN  the  lives  of  most  persons  who  are  left  unprotected 
in  the  world,  there  is  more  or  less  of  hardship  and  ro- 
mance ;  especially  is  this  true  of  women  !  In  the  metro- 
polis of  New  England,  instances  of  female  suffering  and 
intrigue,  are  innumerable.  Too  proud  to  remain  in  their 
country  homes,  dependent  upon  a  father's  or  brother's  sup- 
port, they  crowd  into  the  city,  with  the  hope,  that  some- 
thing will  offer  whereby  they  can  provide  themselves  with 
the  necessaries  of  life.  But  as  very  many  of  them  are  unskil- 
led in  such  employment  as  they  seek,  and  are  of  too  great 
pride  to  offer  themselves  as  house  women,  they  fall  into 
the  hands  of  perveyors,  and  soon  become  known  as  "  wo- 
men of  the  town."  In  this  way  are  our  brothels  filled  to 
repletion,  and  our  principle  streets  made  a  parade  ground 
of  licentiousness.  All  are  to  be  pitied  whose  necessities 
oblige  them  to  a  shameful  means  of  support.  We  should, 
however,  be  slow  to  admit,  that  one's  necessities  need 
drive  them  to  such  means  of  relief  as  aiding,  or  practising 
prostitution,  if  they  will  but  make  their  condition  known 
and  exert  themselves  to  keep  in  the  path  of  virtue.  The 
sons-in-law  of  the  Penniman's  we  have  said  were  fond  of 
fast  women,  and  we  are  now  about  to  introduce  the  reader 
to  the  Mistress  of  Donothing,  whom  Agnes  Farriday  was 
endeavoring  to  reform. 

In  a  room  in  a  neat  small  brick  house  on  N  .  .  .  p 
Street,  (some  three  weeks  previous  to  the  meeting  of 
Agnes  and  Andrews,)  sat  a  beautiful  young  woman,  partly 
reclining  on  the  sofa ;  she  was  fashionably  dressed,  and 
had  the  appearance  of  a  lady  ;  she  was  in  tears  : 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  107 

Maiden  !  once  gay  Pleasure  knew  thee, 

Now  thy  cheeks  are  pale  and  deep, 
Love  has  been  a  felon  to  thee, 
Yet  poor  maiden  do  not  weep. 
There's  rest  for  thee, 
All  under  the  tree, 
There  thou'll  sleep  most  peacefully. 

Thomas  Decker,  the  friend  and  contemporary  of  Shak- 
speare,  has  sketched  the  wanton  in  a  masterly  manner  as 
follows : 

Oh,  when  the  work  of  lust  had  earned  my  bread, 
To  taste  it  now  I  trembled,  lest  each  bit, 
Ere  it  went  down  should  choak  me  chewing  it. 
My  bed  Beemed  like  a  cabin  hung  in  hell, 
The  bawd  hell's  porter,  and  the  liquorish  wine, 
The  pander  fetched,  was  like  an  easy  fine, 
For  which  methought  I  leased  away  013'  soul, 
And  oftentimes,  even  in  my  quaffing  howl, 
Thus  said  I  to  myself  ;  I  am  a  w  .  .  e  ! 

When  in  the  street, 

A  fair  young  modest  damsel  I  did  meet, 
She  seemed  to  all  a  Dove,  when  I  passed  by, 
And  I  to  all  a  Raven !  every  eye 
That  followed  her  went  with  a  bashful  glance, 
At  me  each  bold  and  jeering  countenance 
Darted  forth  scorn  !   To  her,  as  if  she  had  been 
Some  tower  unvanquished  would  they  veil  ; 
'Gainst  me  swoln  rumor  hoisted  every  sail  ; 
She  crowned  by  reverend  praises  passed  by  them, 
I  though  with  face  masked  could  not  'scape  the  "  hem." 
For  as  if  Heaven  had  set  strange  mark  on  whores, 
Because  they  should  be  pointing  stocks  to  man, 
Brest  up  in  civilest  shape  a  courtezan; 
Let  her  walk  saint-like,  noteless  and  unknown. 
Yet  she's  betrayed  by  some  trick  of  her  own! 

Such  is  and  such  must  ever  be  the  shame  of  all  women 
who  rank  among  this  class. 

As  we  have  said,  Irene  Caruthers  (for  such  was  the 
name  of  Donothing's  mistress)  was  a  most  beautiful  wo- 
man, and  deserved  a  better  fate  than  that  of  a  courtezan. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman  of  New  Hampshire, 
of  high  standing  in  his  profession ;  her  mother  was  a 
superior  woman.  Irene,  unhappy  in  her  home,  left  in 
company  with  a  gentleman  for  New  York,  who  had  prom- 
ised to  marry  her  on  their  arrival  there.  A  wild  and 


108  THE    PENNIMANS;    OR, 

romantic  girl,  such  an  adventure  had  many  charms  for 
her.  She  thought  it  would  be  so  "  nice  a  triumph  over 
parental  authority,"  which  had  heen  so  great  a  restraint 
upon  her  foolish  desires,  that  she  had  come  to  regard 
these,  her  hest  friends,  with  suspicion,  and  as  her  worse 
and  most  cruel  enemies  !  Sad  was  her  heart,  when  she 
came  to  learn  the  true  character  of  the  man  with  whom 
she  had  eloped.  A  desperate  and  unprincipled  libertine, 
he  espoused  the  romantic  and  too  trustful  girl  one  month, 
only  to  desert  her  the  next !  This  broke  her  parents' 
hearts,  who  died  partly  in  consequence  of  their  daughter's 
conduct,  whom  they  had  labored  earnestly  to  direct  in 
the  path  of  usefulness,  happiness,  and  honor.  She  had 
now  no  home  to  return  to ;  she  was  left  destitute  in  the 
world. 

For  a  time  she  labored  to  support  herself  with  the 
needle ;  but  her  health,  which  never  was  robust,  failed 
from  close  confinement  to  work,  when  she  was  forced  to 
accept  the  friendship  of  a  man  who  had  become  interest- 
ed in  her.  With  him  she  lived  until  his  death,  which 
was  caused  by  an  affection  of  the  heart.  She  then  came 
to  Boston,  where  chance  directed  her  to  Mrs.  Penniman 
for  assistance.  This  worldly  woman,  proud  and  heartless, 
told  her  to  go  to  work  at  anything  rather  than  beg !  It 
was  at  this  time  that  she  first  saw  Donothing.  He  was 
charmed  with  her  beauty ;  and  determined  to  pursue  her. 
The  Pennimans'  money,  therefore,  supported  her  to  whom 
they  had  denied  all  charity.  Could  Mrs.  Penniman  have 
known  this  fact,  she  would  have  expired,  in  all  probabili- 
ty, in  a  fit  of  rage !  and  the  much  injured  wife,  too,  her 
haughty  daughter,  how  she  would  have  wept,  to  know 
another  unlawfully  shared  with  her  the  love  and  purse  of 
Donothing.  But  this  gay  Lothario  was  a  consummate 
rogue,  and  so  managed  his  amours,  that  none  even  sus- 
pected his  infidelity;  his  "  loving,  doating  wife  "  was  per- 
haps the  last  person  who  would  have  insinuated  even 
aught  against  her  "  hubby."  Donothing  was  generous 
towards  his  mistress ;  anything  she  might  desire  he  pro- 
cured ;  presents  of  the  most  costly  kind  he  lavished  upon 
her,  yet  he  was  at  times  exceedingly  harsh,  and  abused 
her  as  he  oftentimes  abused  his  wife.  As  she  sat  deject- 


THE    TBIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  109 

ed  on  the  sofa,  Donothing  entered  the  room  just  from  a 
dinner  party  ;  he  was  somewhat  over  merry.  The  agita- 
ted soul  of  Irene,  so  visible  in  her  delicate  and  beautiful 
features,  which  were  wont  to  wear  a  gay  and  joyous  ex- 
pression, at  once  arrested  his  attention  ;  her  eye  was  load- 
ed with  melancholy,  and  her  face  was  as  a  beautiful,  though 
darkly  shaded  picture.  The  young  man  seated  himself 
beside  her,  placed  his  arm  around  her  waste,  and  was 
about  kissing  her,  when  she  pushed  him  aside,  repeating 
this  reproof  as  often  as  he  attempted  to  caress  her. 
Wearied  by  his  efforts  to  overcome  her  strange  and  un- 
natural mood,  being  heated  with  wine,  his  patience  soon 
gave  way,  when  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Since  you  are  so  sulky,  I'll  have  nothing  more  to 
say  to  you !  "Why  do  you  not  speak  ;  why  not  tell  me 
what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  My  sins,  Oh,  my  sins  —  weigh  heavy  on  my  soul !  " 
replied  the  girl,  sobbing  aloud. 

"A  fit  of  righteousness!"  rejoined  the  lover.  "Oh, 
that's  it.  Well,  I  am  glad  to  know  it's  nothing  worse. 
Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of  it,  but  I'm  partially  drunk, 
and  your  melancholy  is  infernal  annoying ;  yes,  infernal 
annoying  !  Why  in  the  name  of  Caesar,  when  I  most 
need  your  best  face  are  you  so  d — n  glum  ?  I  came  here 
this  evening  expecting  to  find  you  '  in  fine  feather,'  in- 
stead of  which,  you  are  about  as  stupid  as  it  is  possible 
to  be.  I'll  quit  you  altogether,  if  this  sort  of  work  is  to 
go  on.  You'll  get  no  more  money  from  me,  Chick,  unless 
you  change  your  tactics." 

"  Money  !  "  ejaculated  Irene,  "  and  what  do  you  sup- 
pose I  care  about  money  ?  If  I  can  save  my  soul  in 
Christ,  'tis  all  I  ask ; "  and  as  she  spoke,  she  drew  a  long 
deep  sigh. 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  Irene,"  returned  her  lover  !  with 
a  hiccough,  "  you're  a  fool,  —  so  all  this  fuss  is  about  your 
soul ;  indeed,  indeed  ?  Mark  my  advice  ;  look  out  for 
your  body !  and  let  the  soul  take  care  of  itself :  if  you 
had  as  good  a  dinner,  and  as  much  choice  wine  under 
your  ribs,  as  I  have  under  mine,  you  'd  be  as  jolly  as  a 
jack  tar  just  in  from  a  voyage  round  the  world.  Gods ! 
how  jolly  I  am;  I  only  wish  you  felt  half  as  well ;  "  and 


110  THE    PENNIMANS;    OR, 

as  he  said  this,  he  chucked  the  conscience-stricken  girl 
under  the  chin,  and  proceeded  to  put  his  arm  about  her 
body  in  order  to  draw  her  into  his  lap,  but  she  resisted 
his  advances  with  even  more  determination  than  before. 
He  was  now  in  a  furious  passion  ;  his  self-love,  ardent 
and  unbounded,  as  is  always  the  case  with  weak  persons, 
who  pride  themselves  on  family  connections,  was  wound- 
ed; he  had  been  a  warm  friend  of  Irene's,  having  fur- 
nished her  with  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  to  find  her 
now  so  cold,  touched  his  vanity,  and  disappointed  his 
heart.  In  "  women  of  pleasure  "  he  had  no  confidence 
whatever,  and  he  attributed  Irene's  conduct  to  the  "  tricks 
of  the  wanton,"  and  not  to  any  desire  to  reform  her  course 
of  life.  What  her  object  could  be  in  these  tears  —  these 
feigned  signs  of  sorrow  —  he  was  at  a  loss  to  conjecture  ; 
though  he  was  quite  sure  she  was  playing  a  deep,  deep  game. 
Vesta  hath  claimed  her  for  her  fires ;  the  groves  of 
Daphne  she  hath  forever  fled ;  she  would  be  chaste  ! 
This  in  the  estimation  of  Donothing  was  an  idea  too  ab- 
surd for  a  moment's  regard ;  he  did  not  believe,  nor  did 
he  conceive  it  possible,  for  a  courtezan  to  become  a  re- 
spectable woman,  any  more  than  it  is  in  the  power  of  the 
Ethiopian  to  change  his  skin,  or  the  leopard  his  spots. 
But  Donothing  was  a  licentious  reprobate,  to  whom  the 
Bible  was  a  fable,  and  Heaven  a  dream !  He  knew  not 
of  that  inner  life,  which  through  love  of  God,  and  rever- 
ence for  holy  things,  is  preserved  to  those  who  exhibit  little 
or  no  sign  of  piety  in  the  manner  of  their  living ;  still, 
"  the  voice  of  conscience  "  is  not  stifled,  that  inner  life  is 
yet  preserved,  and  with  it  the  spirit  of  prayer !  which  St. 
Augustine  says,  is  the  evidence  to  every  one  that  God's 
mercy  had  not  forsaken  us. 

Irene's  sobs  grew  louder  as  she  perceived  Donothing  to 
be  entirely  ignorant  of  the  great  change  which  was  work- 
ing in  her,  through  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost !  She 
grieved  that  he  should  be  so  hardened  a  sinner,  and  so 
blind  to  the  beauty  of  repentance. 

"  I  don't  want,"  said  he,  "  anything  to  do  with  a 
woman,  who  conducts  herself  in  this  manner." 

"  I  sincerely  wish  you  would  leave  me,"  rejoined 
Irene,  in  heart  broken  tones ;  sighing  deeply.  "  You 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  Ill 

will  never  again  find  me  what  I  have  been.  I  do  not 
want  your  money  ;  I  do  not  want  any  man's  money  as 
the  wages  of  sin  !  No,  no,  God  knows  my  heart ;  I 
would  be  wholly  his  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  ejaculated  Donothing  ;  "  who  has  been 
stuffing  so  much  piety  into  your  head  all  at  once ;  ha ! 
ha  !  ha  !  I  've  heard  women  talk  in  this  way  before,  but 
it  was  only  to  get  up  a  greater  interest  in  their  behalf.  I 
understand,  oh,  I  understand,  perfectly ;  you  can't  fool 
me ;  I  've  crossed  the  line ;  I'm  up  to  snuff,  depend 
on't." 

Irene  wept  copiously,  and  appeared  greatly  convulsed 
with  grief,  at  this  inhuman  language.  Donothing  seemed 
to  her,  in  her  contrition,  like  an  incarnate  fiend.  And  so 
in  truth  he  was,  as  far  as  any  regard  for  her  repentant 
sorrow  is  to  be  considered.  Doubting  the  sincerity  of  her 
tears  he  cared  little  for  the  expression  of  her  sufferings. 
Gazing  at  her  with  an  eye,  intense  with  indignant  scorn, 
he  muttered  : 

"  Strumpet ! "  he  paused  a  moment,  then  continued  : 
"  Oh,  I  can't  stand  this  —  I'm  off,  you  must  look  your- 
self up  some  other  friend." 

Irene  for  the  first  time  raised  her  head,  and  fixing  her 
large,  grief-stricken  eyes  directly  upon  Donothing,  said, 
mournfully : 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  know  not  how  painful  to  me  is  your  in- 
considerate language  ;  yet  it  does  not  surprise  me  ;  I 
perhaps  deserve  it  all.  I  am  a  woman,  whose  misconduct 
justly  attaches  suspicion  to  my  sincerity.  I  know  you 
will  not  believe,  I  am  resolved  on  a  pious  future ;  no 
one,  perhaps,  will  believe  it,  until  time  shall  be  witness 
to  my  truth  !  I  do  not  ask  any  one  to  credit  me  ;  I  know 
that  I  am  fallen  low ;  and  am  despised  by  those  who  have 
not  been  so  unfortunate.  Yet  Christ,  oh,  Christ  is  with 
me,  whose  all  sufficient  support  I  have.  I  do  not  ask 
your  friendship  more  in  sin  ;  but  if  you  will  strive  to  un- 
derstand the  inner  life  which  connects  us  with  religion 
and  God,  I  shall  then  be  only  too  happy  to  number  you 
among  my  friends." 

"  What  a  pow-wow,  to  be  sure,"  exclaimed  Donothing, 
"  about  what  no  sensible  people  think  of,  until  they  get 


112  THE    PENNIMA.KS;    OH, 

so  far  advanced  in  years  as  not  to  be  able  to  think  of  any- 
think  else  —  religion  and  an  inner  life  !  Fudge,  who  has 
been  working  you  into  this  crack-brained  state.  Agnes 
Farriday,  I'll  bet  my  life." 

Irene  made  no  reply,  but  with  her  face  buried  in  her 
'kerchief,  motioned  him  away. 

"  Oh,  you  want  me  to  go,  do  you  ?  "  continued  Do- 
nothing  with  a  hiccough.  "  Well,  then,  give  me  a  kiss,  and 
I'll  leave  you  to  yourself,  to  work  off  this  little  bit  of 
lunacy  ;  you  are  evidently  in  a  d — n  bad  way  ;  that's  all 
I've  got  to  say  about  it :  with  your  inner  life  and  reform- 
atory doctrines.  Havn't  you  got  wit  enough  to  know, 
that  it's  no  use  for  a  woman  '  on  the  town,'  to  try  to  sup- 
port herself  off  of  it.  There  is  a  brand  of  shame  on  you, 
that  the  waters  of  the  two  hemispheres  will  never  wipe  out ; 
the  world  will  never  forgive  or  forget  your  sins ;  make  up 
your  mind  to  that ;  and  don't  make  a  bigger  fool  of  yourself, 
by  trying  to  fight  your  way  back  again  to  decency  ;  you 
can't  do  it ;  and  it's  no  use  to  try.  You  ought  to  know 
by  this  time  what  delight  those  experience  who  are  up  in 
the  scale  of  virtue,  in  kicking  and  keeping  others  down." 

Poor  Irene  wept  as  though  her  heart  would  break  at 
the  rough  and  unfeeling  discourse  of  Donothing,  particu- 
larly as  she  recognized  in  his  remarks  no  little  truth. 
Still  her  faith  in  God's  love  was  undiminished,  and  she 
felt  a  confidence  in  the  Scriptural  plan  of  salvation,  which 
could  not  be  shaken.  She  was  resolved  to  respect  the 
voice  of  conscience,  and  seek  peace  of  mind  in  virtue  ; 
which  Plato  says,  "  is  not  a  thing  to  be  taught,  nor 
derived  from  nature,  but  exists  by  a  divine  allotment  to 
those  who  possess  it."  We  do  not  altogether  agree  with 
that  great  philosopher,  though  we  quote  him  with  much 
reverence.  We  think  virtue  may  be  taught,  and  it  also 
may  be  derived  from  nature  ;  that  it  is  likewise  of  divine 
allotment  is  most  true. 

"Since  you  are  so  out  of  sorts,"  remarked  Donothing, 
"  so  inconsolable,  so  ridiculous,  I  will  betake  myself  to 
the  theatre  to  see  the  '  Road  to  Ruin.'  Only  just  give  me 
a  kiss,  and  I  am  off.  I  never,  upon  my  word,  found  you 
so  stupid  before.  If  this  is  what  is  called  '  getting  re- 
ligion,' deliver  me  from  it."  As  he  concluded,  he  drew 


1HE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  113 

Irene's  hand  from  her  face,  and  kissed  her  several  times, 
but  she  received  his  caresses  in  a  perfectly  passive,  and 
apparently  abstracted  manner  ;  without  manifesting  pleas- 
ure at  his  familiarity.  As  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  she  tenderly  said  : 

"  You  have  a  wife,  sir ;  respect  your  vows  to  her.  Do 
not,  oh,  do  not  continue  to  deceive  the  lawful  partner  of 
your  bosom." 

Donothing,  irritated  to  find  this  unfortunate  young 
woman  in  such  an  unhappy  state  of  mind,  did  not  choose 
to  remain  long  in  her  company.  He  was  an  incorrigible 
rake,  and  experienced  no  pleasure  in  the  presence  of 
melancholy  and  'tears.  Of  that  school  of  philosophy  which 
places  the  chief  good  of  life  in  low  sensual  enjoyment  — 
the  body  and  not  the  soul  was  his  principal  care.  As  he 
opened  the  door  and  was  passing  into  the  entry,  he  turned 
to  Irene  and  said  : 

"  What  in  the  devil's  name  ails  you,  is  more  than  I 
know  —  (hiccough)  ;  but  d — n  me,  unless  you  behave 
better  in  future,  you'll  get  no  more  money  out  of  me." 
And  thereupon  he  closed  the  door  with  great  violence  and 
left  the  house. 

Irene  was  pleased  at  his  departure,  but  could  not  re- 
press the  fresh  flood  of  tears,  his  parting  words  had  oc- 
casioned ;  he  seemed  so  brutal ;  yet  he  was  the  same  that 
he  had  always  been ;  the  change  was  not  in  him,  but  in 
her.  She  had  entered  into  a  spiritual  sphere  of  contri- 
tion, repentance,  and  trust  in  Jesus,  which  he  did  not  nor 
could  not  understand,  and  whither  he  was  unable  to  fol- 
low her.  He  was  no  longer  a  companion,  therefore,  for 
Irene.  She  would,  however,  have  been  most  happy  to 
have  carried  him  with  her  into  this  new  and  Christian  life, 
if  she  had  felt  the  least  encouragement  to  make  the  attempt. 
She  knew  Donothing  too  well,  to  have  any  present  hope 
of  his  reformation ;  there  did  not  appear  to  be  the  least 
spark  of  godliness  in  his  soul ;  he  was  emphatically 
"  dead  in  sin."  This  hopeful  relative  of  the  Pennimans 
had  not  been  gone  many  minutes,  when  Agnes  entered. 
A  low  sad  sob  was  all  the  greeting  she  received. 

Agnes,  touched  at  the  doleful  sight,  advanced  and  seat- 
ed herself  on  the  sofa  by  the  side  of  Irene,  and  kissed  her 
tenderly. 


114  THE    PENKTIMANS  J     OB, 

"  Don't  cry,  Irene,"  said  Agnes,  "  what  has  happened  ?  " 

It  was  some  moments  before  the  grief-strickea  girl  could 
reply  ;  at  length  she  sighed  : 

"  Oh,  nothing —  nothing.  I  have  been,  Agnes,  a  very 
wicked  woman.  It  is  the  vivid  consciousness  of  my  guilt 
that  overpowers  me." 

"  Then  promise  me  you  will  sin  no  more,"  rejoined 
Agnes.  "  You  know  how  often  I  have  begged  you  to  fly 
this  life  of  debauchery,  and  be  honest  ;  you  know  how  I 
have  condemned  this  Mr.  Donothing  and  his  intimates. 
If  you  will  reform,  all  that  is  in  my  power  to  do  for  you 
will  be  done  cheerfully." 

"  Thank  you,  oh,  thank  you,  Agnes,"  returned  Irene ; 
"  you  are  too  good,  too  good."  And  as  she  concluded, 
she  wept  vehemently. 

"  Oh,  do  not  weep,  my  friend.  I  do  nothing  in  all  this 
but  my  bounden  duty.  Think  how  kind  was  Christ  to 
the  woman  of  Samaria,  whom  he  met  at  the  well,  far 
deeper  in  sin  than  yourself.  His  words  of  love  reformed 
her,  and  love  alone !  So  would  I  strengthen  you  by  my 
affection." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  !  Oh,  I  never  thought  there  was 
such  kindness  in  my  sex,"  said  Irene,  still  weeping.  "  But 
what  to  do  I  know  not,"  continued  she. 

"  Prepare  yourself  for  a  teacher  of  the  young,"  earnest- 
ly counselled  Agnes.  "  Here  is  a  most  honorable  field  for 
you." 

"  It  is,"  returned  Irene  ;  "  but  —  but,  ah,  think  of  what  I 
am.  Can  this  shame  which  is  upon  me  ever  be  effaced  or 
forgotten  ?  No,  no  !  "  And  with  these  words  she  moaned 
most  pitifully. 

"  Be  calm  and  hopeful,  Irene,"  replied  Agnes,  in  a 
sympathetic  voice,  "  and  respect  yourself.  If  you  are 
determined  to  reform,  you  will  have  every  encouragement 
from  the  good,  and  will  be  welcomed  back  to  places  of 
usefulness  and  honor.  Have  faith  in  Jesus !  His  espe- 
cial call  was  to  sinners,  and  the  broken  hearted." 

"  So  it  was,  so  it  was,"  returned  Irene,  lifting  her 
pale  and  agitated  countenance  from  between  her  hands, 
and  looking  lovingly,  and  hopefully,  into  the  sympathetic 
face  of  Farriday.  "  Oh,  my  friend,"  —  and  as  she  said  this 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  115 

she  took  the  hand  of  Agnes  tremblingly  in  her  own,  —  "  my 
best  and  only  friend,  if  I  thought  my  blessed  Lord  and 
Master,  Jesus  of  Nazereth !  would  over-look  my  past  trans- 
actions, I  should  be  so  happy,  so  happy.  In  this  trust  I 
would  not  falter  in  an  honorable  cause,  however  meanly 
society  might  regard  my  determination." 

"  Be  that  trust  then  thine  !  "  exclaimed  Agnes,  "  for  in 
the  Epistle  general  of  John,  it  is  written :  '  If  we  confess 
our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and 
to  cleanse  us  from  all  unrighteousness.'  No,  my  dear 
Irene,  if  you  are  indeed  repentant,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  is 
upon  you,  and  you  feel  accepted  of  God,  be  assured  your 
sins  are  washed  away  ; '  for  though  they  be  as  scarlet,'  saith 
the  Lord  in  Isaiah, '  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow,  though 
they  be  red  like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as  wool.'  Re- 
pentance and  remission  of  sins  makes  us  new  creatures ; 
we  are  born  again ;  and  our  past,  however  wicked,  is  as 
though  it  had  never  belonged  to  us.  We  should  not 
therefore  feel  any  reluctance  in  going  forward  to  any  hon- 
orable post,  which  we  can  creditably  fill  because  we  have 
been  in  the  service  of  Satan ;  seeing  that  '  there  is  more 
joy  in  Heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  than  over  - 
ninety  and  nine  who  need  no  repentance.'  Besides,  we 
should  reflect,  that  some  of  the  most  abandoned  sinners 
have  been  after  repentance  and  remission  of  sins  the  most 
valuable  and  successful  servants  of  God." 

Irene,  still  holding  the  hand  of  Agnes  in  her  own,  now 
pressed  it  fervently,  saying  : 

"  Thanks,  many  thanks  for  your  kind  words ;  they 
nerve  me  greatly.  I  will  learn  to  be  a  teacher.  I  will 
make  amends  for  my  past  unholy  career ! " 

"  So  do,  so  do,"  replied  Agnes,  tenderly  pressing  the 
feverish  hand  of  the  girl,  "  and  I  will  be  your  firm  friend. 
Until  you  are  in  a  situation  to  make  your  duties  of  teacher 
support  you,  I  will  supply  your  necessaries  —  gladly, 
gladly  supply  them." 

Irene,  inspired  by  the  friendship  of  Miss  Farriday,  threw 
herself  about  her  neck  and  kissed  her  passionately. 

"  It  is  to  you,  Agnes,"  she  said,  "  I  owe  this  most  hap- 
py change  in  my  desires.  Your  Christian  counsel  —  at 
which  I  have  sported  in  your  presence,  and  appeared  un- 


116  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

touched  by  —  has  been  with  me  in  my  hours  of  solitude 
and  reflection  ;  and  has  gradually  brought  me,  by  the  aid 
of  that  good  book,  the  Bible,  to  the  feet  of  Jesus,  to  the 
realization  and  confession  of  my  manifold  sins  and  wick- 
edness. I  feel  that  a  new  life  is  opening  to  me,  '  whose 
ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  whose  paths  are  paths 
of  peace.'  You,  you,  dear  Agnes,  are  my  benefactress  — 
accept  my  warmest  love."  She  pressed  Miss  Farriday 
earnestly  to  her  bosom,  and  the  tears  rolled  in  continuous 
streams  down  her  pale  sad  cheeks. 

They  were  united,  these  women,  heart  and  soul !  Agnes 
felt  a  keen  and  inexpressible  joy,  that  the  bread  she  had 
cast  upon  the  waters,  after  many  days  had  returned  to  her 
again.  She  had  struggled  hard  to  draw  Irene  from  the 
quagmire  of  prostitution,  by  every  possible  means  her 
fertile  imagination  could  devise  ;  and,  finally,  success  had 
crowned  her  unyielding  interest  in  a  lovely  and  beautiful 
woman,  who  had  fallen  through  idleness  and  pride.  How 
her  heart  beat  with  rapture  at  her  triumph ;  for  she  knew 
how  well  her  Lord  and  Master  loved  to  see  return  the 
lost  sheep  of  his  fold.  She  remembered  his  forbearance 
towards  fallen  woman,  whose  love  for  him  was  great,  and 
who  washed  his  feet  with  her  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  the 
hairs  of  her  head ;  she  remembered,  too,  that  in  his 
genealogy  there  was  Thamar,  who  was  by  her  father-in- 
law  debauched ;  there  was  Rahab,  a  harlot ;  Rutk,  a  hea- 
then woman,  despised  by  the  Jews  ;  Bathsheba,  the  wife 
of  Uriah,  an  adulteress  !  previous  to  her  marriage  with 
David.  Thus  may  we  see,  thought  Miss  Farriday,  how 
God  has  set  forth,  as  it  were,  a  looking-glass  for  sinners ; 
that  they  may  know  that  he  would  be  born  of  the  posteri- 
ty of  sinners ;  that  the  chief  of  sinners  might  trust  in 
him,  and  flee  to  him  for  refuge.  Alas !  how  many  are 
there  of  this  class  of  females,  drifting  about  on  life's  dark 
and  pitiless  tide,  for  whom  there  is  no  haven  but  the 
cheerless  grave,  beyond  which  they  have  no  hope  —  all  is 
uncertainty,  mystery  and  eight!  How  many  such  would 
hail  an  Agnes  Farriday  as  an  angel  of  light  to  bless  her 
with  their  holy  tears.  We  believe  there  is  an  art  in  love. 
The  only  way  of  rightly  influencing  other  minds,  is  to 
put  ourselves  in  sympathy  with  them.  We  must  use 


THE    TRIUMPH    OP    GEXTUS.  117 

means  for  this ;  we  must  in  some  degree  feel  with  them 
as  well  as  for  them.  Their  perceived  or  imagined  state 
must  act  on  our  own  emotions,  so  as  to  excite  an  appro- 
priate expression  in  our  features,  our  action,  our  'utter- 
ance. To  withdraw  them  from  unholy  passion,  or  disas- 
trous pursuit,  we  must  enter  into  their  feelings  so  far  as 
to  show  that  we  can  sympathize  with  them  in  intensity  of 
purpose,  while  superior  to  them  in  the  direction  of  our 
wishes  and  the  disposal  of  our  means.  We  must  fall  into 
the  same  key,  but  only  to  utter  emotion  and  intelligence 
of  a  higher  order,  guided  by  a  will  under  spiritual  con- 
trol ;  thus  counteracting  the  evil  influence,  not  by  vehement 
resistance,  but  as  sunshine  quenches  fire,  by  the  gentle 
force  of  a  purer  warmth,  and  light  unextinguishable,  be- 
cause it  flows  from  Heaven. 

Those  who  have  never  been  instrumental  in  turning  the 
vicious  from  their  evil  ways,  can  but  imperfectly  under- 
stand the  gratification  which  Agnes  experienced,  when 
pressed  to  the  bosom  of  Irene,  to  be  wet  by  her  holy 
tears.  There  is  a  sublime  bliss  in  thus  leading  the  reck- 
less, the  depraved,  to  a  knowledge  of  that  inner  life, 
which  conducts  them  to  the  consciousness  of  their  respon- 
sibilities as  a  self-existent  creature,  having  a  free  will,  to 
the  Son  and  Father  of  all,  for  the  manner  in  which  His 
gift  of  life  shall  have  been  used.  Whoever  saves  a 
soul  is  more  of  a  hero  than  any  temporal  prince  at  whose 
presence  a  nation  bows. 

The  two  young  women  remained  some  time  together  in 
the  intimacy  of  the  most  hallowed  friendship.  The  clock 
had  struck  nine  before  Agnes  rose  to  depart.  They  bade 
each  other  good  night,  and  Irene  again  was  alone.  She 
went  to  her  chamber,  threw  herself  in  a  rocking-chair, 
and  fell  into  a  reverie  profound. 

"  There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 
A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 
That  suited  well  the  forehead  high, 
The  eyelash  dark  and  downcast  eye ; 
The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind, 
In  duty  firm,  composed,  resigned." 


CHAPTER    XL 

"  Disaster  always  waits  on  early  wit." 

THE  city  was  in  great  excitement  on  the  day  follow- 
ing the  eventful  night  of  Rolston's  attack  on  Andrews, 
and  suicide.  Agnes  Farriday  was  an  obscure  person,  who 
was  known  to  be  poor  and  proud,  and  to  frequent  the 
houses  where  lived  the  women  of  the  town ;  and  the  ene- 
mies, as  well  as  many  of  the  friends  of  Andrews,  said,  "  he 
had  no  business  with  such  a  woman,"  who  was  not  of  his 
circle,  and  whom  society  of  any  pretensions  knew  nothing 
about.  It  was  true  nothing  could  be  charged  against  her 
of  a  dishonest  character  ;  still,  she  was  known  as  an  ex- 
centric  and  unsocial  person,  and  this  in  the  opinion  of 
many  should  condemn  her  as  "  an  unfit  associate  for  a 
young  man  like  Andrews."  The  Catchpennys  and  the 
Touchmenots  were  delighted  at  our  hero's  misadventure  ; 
and  while  the  Touchmenots  hoped  he  would  not  survive  his 
wounds,  Mr.  Catchpenny  had  determined  to  dismiss  him 
from  his  employ.  Both  his  father  and  mother  were  over- 
whelmed with  grief,  and  Ida  Robertson,  who  had  professed 
such  a  strong  attachment,  received  the  intelligence  of  his 
turn  of  fortune  with  the  heartless  remark,  "  The  fool,  to 
have  had  so  little  thought  of  me,  thus  to  disgrace  himself. 
I  must  look  me  up  some  other  love,  for  with  all  his  genius 
I  could  not  wed  him  after  such  conduct.  Agnes  Farri- 
day, indeed !  Some  abandoned  wretch,  I  doubt  not." 
Ida's  love  was  not  equal  to  the  test  which  it  had  encoun- 
tered. She  never  even  went  to  his  couch  to  offer  him  the 
services  of  friendship,  saying,  he  had  no  business  at  such 
a  woman's  house  as  Agnes  Farriday,  of  whom  no  one 
knew  any  good,  but  suspected  much  evil. 

Fortunately  through  the  skill  of  the  physician,  and  the 
affectionate  care  of  Agnes,  the  wound  that  threatened  the 


THE    TKITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  119 

death  of  Andrews  did  not  prove  mortal,  which  was  a 
grievous  circumstance  to  his  enemies,  especially  the  Touch- 
menots,  who,  to  use  their  own  words,  "  fairly  loathed  the 
sight  of  him."  He  had  been  removed  from  the  house  of 
Miss  Farriday  to  that  of  his  father,  where  he  received 
every  attention  which  the  love  of  doating  parents  could 
bestow,  coupled  with  the  warm  affection  of  Agnes,  who 
was  ever  by  his  side.  Nothing  annoyed  him  ;  not  even 
the  note  from  Catchpenny,  who  informed  him  that  the 
firm  had  no  further  need  of  his  services.  He  knew  he 
had  the  love  of  Agnes ;  and  with  that  he  felt  confident  he 
should  triumph  over  all  his  enemies,  and  beat  down  every 
ill. 

Ida  was  one  of  those  women  who  constitute  a  very 
large  number  in  every  community,  whose  love  is  most 
tender  where  there  is  a  prospect  of  being  comfortably  and 
honorably  settled  in  life,  but  who  are  without  the  least 
ambition  for  martyrdom.  Andrews  was  a  dreamy,  ideal- 
istic man,  who  had  no  affinity  whatever .  for  such  gross- 
ness  ;  but  craved  for  a  bosom  companion  and  friend  in 
God,  a  soul  fashioned  like  his  own.  He  wanted  a  woman 
who  would  live  for  him,  not  for  the  world  ;  who  possessed 
the  courage  and  magnaminity  to  trust  all  to  love  and 
Heaven.  There  was  such  a  strange  fascination  in  the 
manner  and  mind  of  Agnes  Farriday,  that  he  experienced 
a  degree  and  kind  of  pleasure  in  contemplating  her  char- 
acter, which  never  had  been  excited  before.  He  felt  the 
deep,  deep  emotion  of  a  deathless  love.  So  sweet,  invig- 
oring,  elevating,  and  sublime.  It  was  the  consciousness 
that  he  had  at  length  met  with  a  being  who  could  and 
would  understand  him ;  who  would  love  and  through  all 
trials  fondly  cherish  him,  that  gave  him  the  strength  to 
bear  with  perfect  indifference  the  treatment  of  Messrs. 
Catchpenny  &  Co.  If  he  had  lost  his  reputation  he  had 
gained  a  higher  life  in  God,  through  the  mild  exquisite 
influence  of  a  noble  woman's  genius  and  affection.  What 
cared  he  for  the  opinion  of  men  since  he  was  conscious  of 
no  wrong,  and  had  found  a  treasure,  which  has  so  often 
baffled  the  eager  search  of  wealth  and  fame,  in  every  age 
among  every  people. 

Agnes  Farriday  was  to  William  Andrews   a  beautiful 


120  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

reality,  for  which  he  had  been  looking  since  Nelly  Penni- 
man,  the  playmate  of  his  boyhood,  by  her  perfidy,  had 
taught  him  the  value  of  a  noble,  sincere,  and  unselfish  na- 
ture. He  had  expected  to  meet  with  his  mate,  but  when, 
where,  and  how,  he  could  not  divine.  It  was  noon  ;  the 
rain  was  pouring  down  in  torrents,  and  the  wind  blew 
fearfully.  William  sat  alone  in  his  study  which  joined 
his  bed-room,  writing  in  his  journal.  The  entry  was  as 
follows :  "  By  the  blessing  of  God  I  yet  live  to  protect 
my  beloved  Agnes ;  she  who  has  been  so  devoted  to  me, 
and  of  whose  tender  love  I  am  so  unworthy.  Rolston 
has  paid  the  penalty  of  his  perfidy  and  ungoverned  pas- 
sion ;  and  Ida  has  been  tested,  and  proved  untrue. 
Thank  God  for  the  revealment,  so  opportune."  He 
closed  his  journal,  and  putting  it  aside  took  up  a  portrait 
of  Ida  which  lay  upon  the  table.  He  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment,  then  muttering,  "  Out  of  my  sight,  wanton ! " 
He  threw  it  on  the  floor  and  broke  it  into  pieces  with  his 
boot-heel.  "So  perish!"  he  exclaimed, "the  heartless 
through  the  world !  Sweet,  sweet  Farriday,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  moment's  pause,  "  thou  art  to  this  false 
creature  as  the  lily  to  the  thistle  !  How  my  soul  exults 
in  thy  perfections,  scorned  by  those  superficial  worldlings 
who  cannot  understand  the  depth  of  thy  noble  nature, 
nor  comprehend  the  grandeur  of  thy  pure  affections.  But 
unto  me  —  to  me,  oh,  excellent,  unselfish  being,  thou  art 
as  sunlight !  The  world  has  said,"  continued  Andrews, 
*'  I  am  ambitious ;  and  so  perhaps  I  am." 

"  But  at  best  'tis  but  a  name  ! 
Praise  —  when  the  ear  has  grown  too  dull  to  hear, 
Gold  —  when  the  senses  it  should  please  are  dead ; 
Wreaths  —  when  the  hair  they  cover  has  grown  grey; 
Fame  —  when  the  heart  it  should  have  thrill'd  is  numb. 
All  things  but  love,  when  love  is  all  we  want; 
And  close  behind  comes  death,  and  ere  we  know, 
That  even  these  unavailing  gifts  we  owe, 
He  sends  us  stripp'd  and  naked  to  the  grave." 

At  this  moment  a  tall  portly  lady  entered  the  room 
habited  in  a  cloak,  and  apparently  about  forty-five  years  of 
age,  having  a  handsome,  striking  face,  deeply  marked  with 
sorrow.  She  advanced  to  Andrews  and  placing  her  hand  on 
his  light  curly  hair,  bent  her  stately  form  and  kissed  him  : 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  121 

"  Oh,  my  son,"  said  she,  "  how  have  you  fallen  !  Do 
you  realize  it?  " 

"  Sit  down,  good  mother,"  replied  the  young  man 
tenderly,  drawing  a  chair  beside  his  own  ;  "  do  sit  down  ; 
I  wish  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you.  Do  I  realize  my 
misfortune  ?  Yes,  indeed ;  but  I  have  only  one  regret 
—  it  is  your  sorrow,  so  plainly  written  on  your  counte- 
nance." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  I  feel  keenly  for  you.  You  know 
how  great  is  my  love.  And  should  I  not  grieve  when  I 
know  the  community  in  which  you  were  once  honored, 
now  contemn  yoli  as  unworthy  of  trust.  I  know  how 
unjust  this  is,  but  others  prefer  to  think  you  a  knave." 

"  The  slanderer  ever  loves  a  shining  mark,"  responded 
the  son.  "  Be  assured,  good  mother,  I  care  not  what  the 
world  think  of  me,  so  long  as  I  have  a  clear  conscience, 
and  an  equally  clear  head.  The  Touchmenots  and  the 
Pennimans,  —  'tis  they  who  have  undone  me.  But  I 
should  be  as  a  man  who  understands  the  power  of  his  own 
soul,  and  is  continually  exerting  that  power  for  the  pro- 
motion of  good  ;  who  cherishes  a  deep  and  solemn  sense 
of  the  sacredness  of  duty,  and  never  hesitates  to  discharge 
that  duty,  be  the  consequences  ever  so  injurious  to  his 
interests  ;  who  in  matters  of  religion  lends  naught  save  a 
deaf  ear  to  the  loud  voice  of  sects,  but  scans  the  works 
of  nature,  the  revelations  in  Scripture,  the  deep  reason- 
ings of  the  human  soul,  who  gives  all  truth  a  welcome, 
how  much  soever  it  may  conflict  with  his  pride  ;  who  re- 
bukes all  evil,  whose  sympathies  are  always  with  the  down- 
trod,  injured,  and  depressed." 

"How  fortunate,  my  dear  boy,  had  you  never  seen 
Agnes,"  remarked  Mrs.  Andrews  in  tears. 

"Yes,  yes,"  rejoined  the  son ;  "yet,  I  never  was  so 
happy  as  now." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Andrews,  much  agitated ; 
"  Happy !  " 

"  Ay,  good  mother,"  replied  the  son  ;  "  her  love  and 
friendship  is  worth  a  world  to  me.  Life  without  her 
would  be  tame  and  tasteless.  The  Catchpennys,  and  all 
other  pennies  may  be  hanged  for  aught  I  care,  —  with 
Agnes'  bosom  for  my  pillow." 
6 


122  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

"  How  strange  you  talk,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Andrews ;  "  I 
am  amazed,  provoked  with  you  for  thus  trifling  with  my 
feelings.  You  but  jest." 

"  Indeed,  I  was  never  more  in  earnest  in  all  my  life," 
returned  the  young  man.  "  I  love  Agnes  with  a  devotion, 
such  a  soul  can  alone  inspire,  —  she  is  the  very  being  I 
have  looked  for  in  the  ideal,  never  supposing  I  should 
meet  with  the  reality.  I  have  been  truly  wretched,  but 
she,  oh,  she  has  made  me  so  happy,  so  happy ! " 

"  You  are  certainly  demented,  mad,  my  dear  son," 
returned  Mrs.  Andrews,  much  agitated.  "  Agnes  can  never 
purge  herself  of  suspicion.  Cease  to  think  of  her  for  my 
sake." 

"  Not  think  of  Agnes,  my  dearest  mother  ?  "  exclaimed 
the  son,  bending  forward  in  his  chair.  "  Impossible  ! 
you  might  as  well  ask  me  to  forget  my  God." 

"  You  are  lost  entirely  if  you  do  not  avoid  that  woman," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Andrews,  with  tearful  eyes.  "  Oh,  my  son, 
how  you  have  disappointed  me." 

"  Don't  weep,  dear  mother,"  returned  he  affectionately ; 
"  I  beg  of  you  do  not  weep,  —  I'm  so  pained  by  your 
tears.  I  did  not  seek  Agnes,  she  came  to  me.  And,  oh, 
if  such  a  sweet  creature  can  mislead  man,  then  the  world 
has  no  loveliness  and  beauty  that  is  not  poison.  Believe 
me  she  is  a  good  spirit,  and  Heaven  has  sent  her  to  me 
for  a  noble  end." 

"  Why  will  you  be  so  imaginative,"  rejoined  Mrs.  An- 
drews ;  "  it  is  this  force  which  seems  to  have  obtained 
such  mastery  over  your  reason,  as  really  alarms  me.  One 
may  imagine  anything,  but  how  important  to  be  rational." 

"  I  see,  I  see,"  returned  the  son,  nervously.  "  You 
think  I  am  too  romantic.  Ah,  dear  mother,  would  you 
knew  your  son." 

"And  do  I  not?"  interrogated  Mrs.  Andrews  with 
surprise. 

"  Of  my  inner  life,  my  longings,  my  spirituality,  I  am 
sure  you  know  very  little,"  replied  the  young  man. 
"  You  have  never  appeared  thoroughly  to  understand  my 
desires  —  my  ambition." 

"  No  ?  then  'tis  because  you  have  never  sought  to  ac- 
quaint me  ;  "  rejoined  the  mother,  looking  steadfastly  at 
her  son. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  123 

"  I  never  seek  to  acquaint  any  one  with  my  interior 
life."  returned  our  hero,  in  a  low  solemn  tone.  "  Where  I 
perceive,  however,  the  desire  on  the  part  of  any  congenial 
mind  to  know  me,  I  reveal  myself.  You  think  me  strange, 
but  have  never  tried  to  understand  why  it  is  I  am  so." 

"  I  have  not  aimed  to  pry  into  your  thoughts,  'tis  true," 
replied  Mrs.  Andrews,  "  because  I  was  unwilling  to  de- 
sire what  your  love  forme  was  not  deep  enough  to  offer." 

"  Ah,  dear  mother,"  returned  the  son,  pressing  her 
hand,  which  he  still  retained  in  his,  "  you  mistake  my 
love  to  doubt  its  strength.  I  know  that  I  love  you 
truly,  I  know  there  is  none  upon  this  earth  in  whose 
fidelity  and  sincerity  I  can  place  more  implicit  faith  than 
in  yours.  Still,  you  do  not  comprehend  me.  O,  would 
you  did.  A  true  artist,  dear  mother,  whose  soul  is  con- 
stantly fixed  on  sublime  themes,  cannot  be  what  material 
men  of  active  life  term  practical,  which  is  what  you  would 
have  me  to  be."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  conti- 
nued. "  True  artists  are  God's  especial  ministers  in  the 
interpretation  of  nature,  and  will  ever  appear  strange  to 
those  who  do  not  comprehend  them,  and  understand  their 
mission.  My  mind,  dear  mother,  is  a  world  of  thought, 
the  least  beauty  of  which  is  worth  more  to  me  than 
'  golden  opinions '  from  all  sorts  of  people." 

"  I  am  most  unhappy  to  know  you  love  so  truly  a 
woman,  who,  after  all,  is  but  an  adventuress  !  She  may  or 
may  not  be  worthy  of  you,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Andrews. 

"  Is  she  not  a  lady  ?  "  interrogated  the  son  somewhat 
sharply.  "  Have  you  not  found  her,  in  her  intercourse 
with  you,  during  the  time  she  was  under  your  roof  in 
attendance  on  me,  a  woman  of  brilliant  mind  and  power- 
ful character  ?  Did  you  not  feel  her  to  be  in  every  sense 
your  equal  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  Agnes  more 
than  this,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Andrews  ;  "  she  is  mysterious, 
and  may  or  may  not  be  all  she  seems.  But  I'll  say  no  more. 
If  she  is  the  only  woman  you  can  love,  do  that  which  is  for 
your  happiness." 

Mrs.  Andrews  kissed  her  son's  pale  brow,  and  then 
withdrew. 

William  sat  for  some  time  motionless  in  his  chair,  and 


124  THB    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

then  suddenly  starting  up,  muttered  :  "  That  voice  again  ! 
Ah,  it  tells  me  ever  to  be  true  to  Agnes,  and  so  by  my 
soul,  I  will  obey  its  just  commands.  "The  young  man  be- 
lieved in  the  power  of  spirits  to  impress  his  mind ;  and 
this  voice  he  sc  often  heard,  he  thought  to  be  his  guardian 
angel's.  Undoubtedly  spirits  do  communicate  with  mor- 
tals, and  have  done  so  in  every  age  of  the  world.  The 
Bible  is  full  of  spiritualism  from  beginning  to  end.  Most 
ancient  history  reveals  the  fact  that  angels  came  to  the 
inhabitants  of  this  planet  on  errands  of  love  and  mercy. 
Traditions  existing  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  —  also 
traditions  of  Indians,  who  received  visions  of  their  beau- 
tiful spirit-land,  with  crystal  streams  meandering  among 
the  hills  and  leaping  o'er  the  crimson  onyx  stone  ;  tower 
ing  forests  filled  with  warriors  brave,  and  orators  sublime 
in  their  eloquence  ;  beautiful  beasts,  and  birds  with  celes- 
tial voices  singing  around  bowers  of  love,  —  these  with 
more  modern  facts,  present  a  glimpse  of  that  chain  whose 
links  of  Scriptural  influences  connects  past  generations  to 
the  present,  and  elevate  all  in  the  great  scale  of  progres- 
sion. Numerous  are  the  facts  of  past  ages  evincing  the 
influence  of  unseen  spirits.  No  true  poet  ever  wrote  who 
did  not  confess  a  high  and  holy  inspiration  poured  into 
his  soul  from  an  influence  far  above  the  material  world. 
Of  what  especial  benefit,  however,  this  present  indis- 
criminate consultation  of  the  dead  can  be  to  humanity,  is 
to  our  comprehension  not  so  clear.  It  is  as  much  calcu- 
lated to  mislead  as  to  direct  aright ;  and  in  very  many 
cases  we  should  say,  its  evils  may  be  incalculable.  If 
mankind  are  willing  to  submit  themselves  to  the  doctrines 
of  Christianity,  to  believe  in  the  Scriptural  plan  of  salva- 
tion, to  reverence  and  love  Christ,  —  that  was  the  word  with 
God  before  the  world  was,  —  we  can  see  no  reason  why  they 
should  seek  or  desire  intercourse  with  the  departed,  whom 
they  cannot  be  certain  are  their  friends,  however  conclu- 
sive, apparently,  may  be  the  evidence  ;  for  as  to  the  means 
of  deception  which  these  intelligences  may  make  use  of, 
we  are  and  must  ever  remain  entirely  ignorant.  We 
think  when  persons  come  calmly  to  consider  of  spiritual 
intercouse,  to  reflect  on  the  absurdity  of  giving  themselves 
up  to  the  guidance  of  unknown  powers,  they  will  return 


THE    TEITTMPH    OF    GENITTS.  125 

to  the  quiet  habits  of  mind,  which  an  humble  trust  in  the 
divine  promises  of  Jesus  insure  to  the  faithful.  In  this 
life,  while  in  this  material  and  troublesome  body,  we  are 
shut  off  from  the  spirit  world,  and  any  attempt  on  our 
part  to  commune  with  its  intelligences,  and  to  know  of 
the  hereafter,  more  than  we  may  learn  by  an  earnest,  close 
study  of  the  Scripture,  is  altogether  idle  and  dangerous 
to  our  peace  of  mind.  It  is  enough  for  us  to  know,  if  we 
perform  our  duties  faithfully  in  this  life,  as  sincere  Chris- 
tian men  and  women,  that  with  the  Father  in  Heaven,  we 
shall  enjoy  a  condition  which  will  be  happiness.  In  seeking 
communion  with  departed  friends,  there  is  an  irresistible 
impulse  hard  to  overcome ;  but,  when  it  is  remembered, 
the  gratification  of  this  desire  can  result  in  no  positive 
assurance,  that  it  is  indeed  with  our  friends  that  we  have 
held  communion ;  when'  it  is  realized  that  the  grossest 
deceptions  may  be  practised  upon  us,  by  those  mysterious 
agents  ;  when  it  is  dispassionately  considered  that  our 
minds  may  be  enfeebled  and  even  deranged  by  such  ex- 
citing causes,  we  are  of  opinion  that  most  of  us,  acting  as 
rational  creatures,  will  refrain  from  seeking  knowledge, 
or  consolation,  or  love,  through  such  irresponsible  and 
unknown"  sources. 

It  is  true  that  in  this  life  there  is  so  much  materiality, 
so  much  in  the  practical  concerns  of  society  in  direct 
opposition  to,  and,  we  may  say,  at  war  with  our  better 
natures,  which  the  poetic  sentiment  embraces,  so  much  to 
disgust  and  dishearten  us  in  the  discharge  of  the  gross 
duties  of  the  world,  we  feel  it  to  be  a  great  privilege  to 
be  able  to  call  up  the  spirits  of  friends  whom  we  have 
loved,  to  enjoy  again  their  society.  We  fancy  a  purity 
attaching  itself  to  them  which  may  be  communicated  to 
us,  and  thus  it  is  that  very  many  turn  to  spiritualism  as  a 
refuge  from  the  grossness  and  moral  deformity  of  earthly 
cares,  aims,  and  customs.  But  it  is  much  better  for  us  all 
to  stand  our  ground,  and  face  sin  with  a  bold  front,  bear- 
ing up  under  its  calamity  as  soldiers  of  the  cross,  seeking 
spiritual  aid  and  comfort  from  God  above,  whose  tangible 
form  is  in  Jesus  ! 

There  is  all  the  spiritual  support  in  the  Bible  which 
any  man  or  woman  really  needs.  "  Be  thou  faithful  unto 


126  THE    PEXNIMANS;    OK, 

the  end,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  crown  of  glory,"  are 
words  that  should  be  written  on  the  heart  of  every  human 
being  who  lacks  firmness  in  his  hopes  of  a  hereafter.  It 
seems  to  us,  that  so  long  as  we  are  in  this  world, 
we  should  be  engaged  in  the  affairs  of  the  world,  sup- 
pressing as  much  as  possible  our  curiosity  as  to  the  next ; 
we  should  endeavor  to  be  faithful  unto  the  end  of  this 
life,  knowing  that  we  shall  be  glorified  in  the  next.  Now, 
being  faithful  is  to  live  in  accordance  with  the  divine  will 
as  expressed  in  the  Bible,  which  is  to  love  our  neighbors 
as  ourselves,  and  to  do  unto  others  as  we  would  that  they 
should  do  unto  us.  We  have  only  to  obey  this  will,  and 
the  necessity  we  feel  for  the  spiritual  aid  from  immortal 
intelligences  will  not  longer  exist ;  we  shall  find  in  our 
fellow  men  a  friendship  and  esteem,  a  love  even,  as  sooth- 
ing and  sustaining  as  that  is  fotmd  to  be  of  "  minister- 
ing angels."  Instead  of  striving  while  we  are  in  the 
body  for  communion  with  the  unseen  and  unknown  pow- 
ers, let  us  do  what  we  can  through  the  doctrine  and 
spirit  of  Jesus,  which  is  not  unknown !  to  improve  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  men  by  practising  His  virtues  and 
explaining  his  doctrine. 

We  have  work  enough  to  do,  all  of  us,  both  old  and 
young,  to  evangelize  the  world.  If  departed  spirits  insist 
on  aiding  us  in  this  labor,  it  would  be  ungenerous  and 
selfish  to  disregard  them ;  but  at  the  same  time,  we  do 
not  hesitate  to  affirm,  that  the  Bible  is  all  powerful  for 
this  object ;  and  mankind  are  fully  competent  under  its 
influence,  of  spiritualizing  themselves  without  the  assist- 
ance of  unseen  forces,  of  whom  we  know  nothing  accurately. 

William  Andrews  was  one  of  those  highly  imaginative 
and  excitable  beings,  who  delighted  to  feel  himself  in  the 
care  of  departed  spirits  ;  he  felt  a  peculiar  charm  in  their  so- 
ciety, a  pride  in  believing  himself  chosen  by  them  in  conse- 
quence of  the  purity  of  his  aspirations,  which  were  those 
of  a  refined  genius.  He  was  ambitious  to  do  something 
that  would  mark  him  as  a  man  of  thought  and  power  ;  but 
what  that  something  should  be  he  had  not  yet  determined. 
At  one  time  he  concluded  to  go  upon  the  stage ;  then  he 
thought  he  would  be  a  dramatic  author  ;  he  fancied  he 
was  quite  equal  to  writing  the  best  plays,  and  that  in  this 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  127 

way  he  might  greatly  benefit  his  fellow  men,  by  combin- 
ing in  his  productions,  instructions  as  well  as  amusements. 
Yes,  he  would  certainly  be  an  author ;  but  when  he  came 
calmly  to  consider  of  the  miseries  of  dramatic  authorship, 
when  he  remembered  the  peculiarties  of  actors,  who  most 
always  contrive  to  dodge,  or  embarrass  new  pieces  they 
are  called  to  perform  ;  when  he  reflected  upon  the  envy, 
malice,  the  hatred  which  small  critics,  (who  have  never 
been  able  to  do  anything  praise-worthy  for  the  stage.) 
entertain  towards  successful  authorship,  he  abandoned 
the  ambition  at  once,  and  laughed  at  himself  for  aspiring 
to  fame  through  the  medium  of  the  stage.  It  appeared 
to  him,  in  a  cool  dispassionate  state  of  mind,  supremely 
absurd  to  look  to  such  a  thorny  path  for  happiness.  Yet 
something  he  must  be  above  the  ordinary  masses,  as  he 
felt  the  power  within  him,  and  out  it  should  come.  He 
would  be  a  poet  —  painter.  He  was  sure  in  this  field  of 
a  triumph  which  would  satisfy  him.  Sometimes  the  wish 
was  uppermost  to  return  to  mercantile  life  ;  as,  however, 
he  would  come  under  such  disadvantages  in  consequence 
of  his  dismissal  from  Messrs.  Catchpenny  &  Co.'s,  he  de- 
cided not  to  re-enter  that  field.  He  would  identify 
himself  with  the  domain  of  art ;  with  art  and  Agnes  he 
deemed  he  could  be  happy.  Money  was  no  particular 
consideration  with  him,  nor  with  Agnes.  They  did  not 
desire  to  live  in  style  ;  but  simply  comfortable.  To  be  a 
poet-painter,  and  to  wear  the  laurels  of  an  art  hero,  was 
to  be  the  future  ambition  of  his  life. 

Having  drawn  himself  close  to  the  table  whereon  were 
his  books  and  writing  materials,  he  dropped  his  head 
upon  his  bosom,  and  sat  in  deep  thought.  Suddenly 
starting  up,  he  began  to  walk  the  room  with  his  hands  in 
his  pantaloon  pockets,  whilst  tears  trickled  from  his  cheeks. 
He  paced  the  room  many  times,  occasionally  drawing  a 
long,  deep  sigh,  followed  by  a  convulsive  movement  of  the 
body.  Now  and  then  he  would  mutter  : 

"  Oh,  if  she  will  be  but  true  to  me,  what  may  I  not 
accomplish,  with  hope,  patience,  and  perseverance  ;  but, 
oh,  if  she  should  prove  false  —  let  me  not  think  on't.  No, 
no,  I  do  but  wrong  her  —  sweet,  sweet  creature  !  "  The 
young  man  was  greatly  agitated ;  he  seemed  convulsed 


128  THE    PENNIMANS. 

in  every  limb.  It  was  the  working  of  a  soul  on  fire  in 
contemplation  of  its  destiny.  He  was  overcharged  as  it 
were,  with  thought  of  Agnes,  the  centre  of  his  life,  the 
pillar  of  his  strength,  the  sum  total  of  his  happiness. 
Thus  engaged  we  now  leave  him  to  advert  to  other 
scenes. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

•'  Not  faster  in  the  summer's  ray 
The  spring's  frail  beauty  fades  away, 
Than  anguish  and  decay  consume 
The  smiling  virgin's  rosy  bloom." 

THE  Atlays  was  the  only  family  to  whom  young  An- 
drews was  personally  known,  who  took  any  apparent 
interest  in  his  welfare.  Both  Charles  Atlay  and  his  father 
were  particularly  kind,  and  offered  to  do  anything  in 
their  power  to  befriend  him.  Lucy,  touched  deeply  by 
the  injustice  of  the  Catchpennys,  sent  the  aggrieved  young 
man  the  following  lines  from  "  Legends  of  the  Isles  :  " 

"  If  thou  wouM'st  win  a  lasting  fame, 
If  thou  the  immortal  wreath  would  claim, 
And  make  the  future  bless  thy  name, 
Begin  thy  perilous  career ; 
Keep  high  thy  heart,  thy  conscience  clear, 
And  walk  thy  way  without  a  fear. ' ' 

These  lines  were  very  appropriate,  and  were  most  grate- 
fully received.  Lucy  had  always  had  a  high  regard  for 
young  Andrews,  and  was  suspected  by  her  family  of  being 
partially,  if  not  deeply  in  love  with  him.  So  at  all  events 
the  Misses  Catchpennys  thought  and  even  reported.  These 
people  affected  to  regard  the  Atlays  with  contempt,  whom 
"  they  would  not  visit  on  any  account."  Our  hero  was 
abused  by  all  the  Penniman  set,  as  persistently  as  he  was 
praised  by  the  Atlays. 

He  had  a  sad  experience  of  the  passion  which  prompts 
calumny,  but  bore  with  the  greatest  patience  the  affliction 
it  had  brought  upon  him.  He  had  endeared  himself  to 
Lucy  by  his  gracious  manners  and  his  genial  wit ;  both 
she  and  her  family  discredited  entirely  the  charges  against 
him,  and  were  confident  he  had  been  foully  wronged. 
One  day  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  chamber,  her  mother  sud- 
denly entered,  and  observing  her  daughter  pale,  dejected, 


130  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

and  wiping  a  tear  from  her  cheek,  she  affectionally  pressed 
her  hand  and  inquired  the  cause  of  her  sorrow. 

"  I  am  so  sad  to  think,"  said  Lucy,  "  that  one  so  good, 
so  noble,  so  much  above  his  fellows  as  William  Andrews, 
should  meet  with  such  injustice,  such  inhumanity  from 
those  he  so  long  and  faithfully  served." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  what  else  can  we  expect  from  the 
Catchpennys  and  their  set ;  "  returned  Mrs.  Atlay.  "  You 
know  from  such  low  people  nothing  high  minded  can  be 
expected." 

"  Very  true,"  rejoined  Lucy,  "  very  true ;  I  am  sur- 
prised that  he  should  have  gone  to  service  with  them." 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  understand,  my  dear,  about  this," 
replied  Mrs.  Atlay,  hurriedly.  "  When  young  men  are 
in  want  of  situations,  and  can't  afford  to  be  particular, 
they  have  to  accept  of  such  as  may  offer,  without  much 
regard  as  to  who  and  what  their  employers  are,  whether 
Jew  or  Gentile,  Infidel  or  Christian.  So  wags  the  world, 
my  dear  —  so  wags  the  world." 

"A  sad  world  it  is,"  rejoined  Lucy,  drawing  a  low 
sigh. 

"  Do  not  be  so  sad,"  returned  the  mother.  "  I  fear 
your  thoughts  are  too  much  of  Andrews.  He  is  not  a 
man  to  marry  a  girl  simply  because  she  is  interested  in 
him ;  no,  no." 

"  Not  until  of  late  have  I  found  myself  seriously  en- 
gaged with  thoughts  of  him,"  returned  Lucy ;  "  since  all 
the  world  seemed  against  him  I  have  deeply  pitied  his  lot, 
and  may  add,  loved  the  rare  virtue  of  his  manhood." 

"  You  appear  to  think  he  is  unloved,  uncared  for," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Atlay.  "  Now,  my  dear  Lucy,  this  is  a 
great  mistake.  Agnes  Farriday,  so  report  goes,  is  his 
bosom  friend,  whom  he  loves  devotedly,  and  intends  to 
marry." 

"  Marry ! "  interrupted  Lucy ;  "  no,  no,  that  cannot 
be  ;  he  —  he,  would  not  marry  her !  The  report  cannot  be 
true ;  I'll  not  believe  one  word  of  it."  She  spoke  with 
a  good  deal  of  warmth,  and  for  the  moment  seemed  alive 
with  indignation. 

"  The  report  originated  with  the  Catchpennys,"  replied 
Mrs.  Atlay ;  "  they  ought  to  know." 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  131 

"  They  !  "  ejaculated  Lucy.  "  The  Catchpennys  ?  Why, 
they  are  his  bitter  foes  ;  now,  I  am  sure  'tis  false." 

"  Don't  be  too  certain  ;  we  are  all  liable  to  mistakes," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Atlay. 

"  We  shall  see,"  replied  Lucy,  distrustfully.  "  We  shall 
see.  Time  will  reveal  all  things,  and  I  predict  in  this 
instance  I  shall  be  proved  right." 

The  tea-bell  at  this  moment  rang  sharply,  when  Lucy 
and  her  mother,  affectionately  locked  in  each  other's  arms, 
proceeded  down  stairs  to  join  Mr.  Atlay  and  Charles  at 
supper. 

Lucy  was  at  that  period  in  the  life  of  every  true  woman, 
when  moral  and  intellectual  growth  seems  for  the  time  to 
cease — 

The  vacant  heart  seeks  for  an  occupant,  a  more  inti- 
mate companionship  with  the  masculine  mind,  to  start  it 
upon  its  second  period  of  development.  At  this  period 
Lucy  has  arrived.  She  craved  the  society  and  love  of  one 
in  whom  she  could  place  entire  confidence.  In  Andrews 
she  believed  was  such  a  man.  She  could  not  calmly  bear 
the  reflection,  that  he  might  marry  another.  He  had 
often  conversed  with  her ;  he  had  often  laughed  and 
walked  with  this  lovely  lady,  whose  soft  blue  eyes  were 
speaking  pictures  of  innocent  dreams,  whose  lips  and 
cheeks  were  redolent  with  beauty. 

As  she  sat  at  the  tea-table,  with  her  father,  mother  and 
brother  Charles,  she  accidently  brushed  from  the  table  a 
china  dish,  which  broke  into  many  pieces.  Stooping  down 
she  picked  up  a  fragment,  and  looking  earnestly  at  her 
father,  said : 

"  Oh,  father,  you  have  indeed  a  careless  daughter,  who 
fears,  in  time,  even  as  this  dish,  she  will  be  a  fragment 
only  of  herself." 

"  Nonsense,  daughter,  nonsense,"  returned  Mr.  Atlay. 
"  You've  only  to  take  in  about  a  yard  of  those  flowing 
sleeves,  and  you'll  last  to  a  good  old  age.  Let  poetry 
alone  or  you  will  go  mad.  I  tell  you,  love,  you  read  too 
much  of  matter  which  has  no  practical  bearing  on 
life  ;  and  if  you  continue  in  this  course  you  will  bring 
upon  yourself  much  unhappiness,  Do  you  not  remember 
how  poor  Chatterton,  in  the  height  of  his  misery,  and  on 


132  THE    PENNTMANS;    OB, 

the  eve  of  his  sad  death,  wrote  to  a  friend,  in  which  letter 
he '  damned  the  muses,'  and  declared  them  to  be  the  nurse 
of  poverty  and  insanity.  He  certainly  is  good  author- 
ity.' 

"  That  unfortunate  youth,"  returned  Lucy,  "  had  ref- 
ference  to  the  writing  of  poetry,  and  not  the  reading  or 
study  of  it." 

"  It  is  all  the  same  thing  my  love,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Atlay.  "  It  is  deadly  poison,  and  whether  one  is  engaged 
in  its  manufacture  or  use,  their  fate  is  the  same.  I  ap- 
peal to  your  mother  and  brother  to  sustain  me." 

"  I  have  no  hesitation  in  declaring  it  as  my  opinion  that 
no  true  poet,  nor  enthusiastic  reader  of  poetry,  is  a  sane 
person,"  said  Charles,  as  he  passed  his  cup  to  be  replen- 
ished with  tea. 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  think,"  remarked  Mrs.  At- 
lay ;  "  and  I  have  always  regretted  that  Lucy  passed  so 
much  time  with  these  imaginative  authors." 

"There,  you  see,  Lucy,  the  majority  is  against  you," 
spoke  Mr.  Atlay,  with  the  utmost  good  nature. 

"Ay,  sir,"  replied  the  daughter;  "but  you  know 
majorities  are  not  always  j'tts£.  I  love  the  poets  because 
they  carry  me  into  the  pure  and  exalted  realms  of  fancy. 
I  know  that  while  here,  I  am  dead,  as  it  were,  to  the 
world  of  sense.  Yet  is  it  not,  dear  father,  well,  some- 
times, to  escape  from  earth  and  bask  for  a  while  in  the 
light  of  Heaven  —  this  light  is  true  poetry  !  " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  rejoined  Mr.  Atlay,  "you  are  an  en- 
thusiast in  this  fascinating  art  —  you  have  been  charmed 
by  it  into  a  state  of  mind,  against  which  I  solemnly  cau- 
tion you.  Fly  these  weird  authors  ;  mix  fully  with  cheer- 
ful society ;  and  in  time  you  will  re-acquire  a  relish  for 
the  dance,  hot  suppers,  and  all  et  ceteras,  of  what  is 
termed  '  high  life.'  Don't  continue  to  be  a  blue,  I  beg 
of  you.  I  should  be  so  happy  to  see  you  once  more  as 
you  were  just  after  leaving  school  —  sprightly  and  gay. 
Now,  dear,  can  you  not  gratify  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  dear  father,  how  unreasonable  you  are," 
returned  Lucy .  "  You  might  as  well  ask  the  leopard 
to  change  his  spots,  as  to  ask  me  to  re-enter  the  saloons 
of  fashion.  I  left  them  in  disgust  and  forever  !  Do  not 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIT7S.  133 

think  I  will  consent  to  return !  Ask  of  me  anything  else, 
and  though  it  were  to  die  for  you,  I  would  freely  respond, 
my  dearest  father  — 

"  '  All  my  life  long 

I  have  beheld  with  most  respect,  that  woman, 
Who  knew  herself,  and  knew  the  ways  before  her, 
And  from  among  them  chose  considerately 
With  a  clear  foresight,  not  a  blind  courage, 
And  having  chosen  with  a  steadfast  mind, 
Pursued  her  purposes.'  " 

This  was  an  apt  and  very  beautiful  quotation,  which  at 
once  silenced  Mr.  Atlay.  In  all  their  disputations  with 
Lucy,  she  usually  succeeded  in  maintaining  her  positions, 
as  she  did  on  this  present  occasion.  Never  violent,  she 
was  always  firm  and  dignified,  so  that  neither  her  parents, 
nor  brother,  ever  had  cause  to  complain  of  a  wound. 

"  By  the  way,  my  love,  I  saw  your  friend,  Hamilton, 
to-day,"  remarked  Mr.  Atlay,  to  his  fair  and  accomplished 
daughter ;  "  he  and  Andrews  seem  inseparable." 

"  I  know  not  why  it  is,  but  of  late  Augustus  has  some- 
what avoided  me,"  rejoined  Lucy.  "  Think  how  long  it 
is  since  his  last  visit.  He  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  of 
fellows,  and  writes  the  most  exquisite  sonnets.  Petrarch's 
are  no  better." 

"  Fudge,"  exclaimed  Charles,  "he's  a  mere  lady's  play- 
thing —  a  handsome  beau.  Such  fellows  are  entirely  in- 
competent as  husbands." 

"  Excellent !  my  dear  fellow,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Atlay  ; 
"  You  speak  the  truth.  These  milk-sops  who  are  about 
in  society,  with  little  or  no  real  worth,  elbowing  their 
betters,  and  with  the  most  insufferable  airs,  should  be  put 
in  petticoats  and  made  to  do  the  work  of  house-maids, 
being  totally  unfit  for  the  employment  of  men  !  " 

"  But  Augustus  Hamilton,  my  dear  father,  is  no  such 
person,"  replied  Lucy. 

"  Take  my  advice,"  spoke  the  brother,  "'  and  give  him 
a  wide  birth,'  as  the  sailors  say.  He  writes  poetry,  and 
that  is  enough  to  condemn  any  man ;  for  it  is  generally 
believed  that  such  fellows  are  never  up  to  their  work  un- 
less drunk  —  inspiration  comes  only  with  their  cups.  As 
for  Andrews,  he  is  about  half  deranged.  I  never  saw  a 


134  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK,     * 

person  of  such  a  changeable  mood.  At  times  I  meet  him 
and  he  is  full  of  good  nature,  quite  communicative ;  at 
other  times,  taciturn  and  morose." 

"  Morose  !  "  exclaimed  Lucy  ;  "  William  Andrews  — 
morose  ?  No,  no,  it  is  not  in  his  nature.  .  Would  you 
were  .something  of  an  artist,  Charles.  You  would  not 
then  call  the  melancholy  of  Andrews  moroseness;  he  is 
a  thinker,  a  deep  one,  too  ! " 

"  This  deep  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Atlay,  sarcastically, 
"may  account  for  his  religious  views  —  and  those  of 
Hamilton.  You  certainly  cannot  excuse  their  skepticism. 
How  often  have  we  heard  both  of  these  young  men  defend 
Theodore  Parker's  doctrine ;  and  while  denouncing  him 
as  an  abolitionist,  applauding  him  as  a  deist !  This  Mr. 
Parker  I  regard  as  one  of  the  most  dangerous  teachers 
we  have  ever  had  in  our  midst,  because,  while  he  rejects 
the  Bible  as  a  standard  of  faith  and  the  means  of  salva- 
tion, he  goes  to  its  moral  precepts  to  form  the  text  and 
the  garnishing  of  his  performances ;  thereby  stealing  '  the 
livery  of  Heaven  to  serve  the  devil  in.'  Nothing  can  be 
more  narrow  and  diabolical  than  his  doctrine.  '  Emanci- 
pation from  the  Bible  and  the  church,'  is  his  battle  cry ; 
'down  with  the  eclesiastical  authority,'  says  he  ; '  let  men  be 
set  loose  from  the  old  theological  den.'  Love  of  self  is 
his  grand  central  point ;  and  as  evidence  of  it,  he 
preaches  not  love  in  general,  but  only  hatred  of  what  is 
not  in  conformity  with  his  own  notions  of  social  and  indi- 
vidual requirement." 

"You  misunderstand  this  man;"  returned  Lucy,  reso- 
lutely. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  I  am  astonished  that  you  should  de- 
fend Mr.  Parker.  Nothing  can  be  plainer  than  the  state- 
ment of  his  doctrine.  He  is  an  unqualified  disbeliever  in 
all  revealed  religion.  Nature  and  reason  is  his  Bible  — 
his  only  guide !  "  replied  Mrs.  Atlay. 

"  I  tell  you  again,  Theodore  Parker  is  not  understood 
fully,"  rejoined  Lucy,  with  much  earnestness.  "  That 
he  does  not  believe  in  the  Scriptural  plan  of  salvation,  I 
allow.  He  thinks  this  whole  scheme  the  work  of  priest- 
craft, and  not  the  plan  of  God.  He  thinks,  too,  that  man 
may  be  his  own  Saviour,  by  the  study  and  practice  of  vir- 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  135 

tue.  The  doctrine  he  teaches  is  the  doctrine  he  lives  out ! 
Both  Andrews  and  Hamilton  regard  Mr.  Parker  as  a  man 
of  profound  genius,  and  they  are  pleased  to  hear  him 
teach.  They  do  not,  however,  sympathize  with  all  hia 
views,  nor  with  his  total  rejection  of  the  Bible  as  the  re- 
vealed word  of  God.  They  are  eclectics,  and  believe  good 
may  be  gathered  from  all  shades  of  religion.  Both  of 
these  young  men  I  know  to  be  honest  Christians." 

"  Honest !  "  reiterated  Charles.  "  Well,  it  is  refresh- 
ing to  hear  any  one  speak  of  honest  Christians ;  it  is, 
indeed." 

"Why,  Charles!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Atlay.  "Lucy,  let 
us  not  dispute  this  point  any  more  —  we  shall  never  agree, 
I  fear.  Tell  me  why  it  is,  Hamilton  has  so  neglected  you 
of  late.  He  has  always  been  so  regular  in  his  visits." 

"  He  is  queer,"  responded  the  daughter  ;  "  and  pray,  did 
you  ever  see  a  man  of  parts  who  was  otherwise  ?  The 
truth  is,  where  there  are  any  intellectual  endowments,  there 
is  always  a  good  deal  of  singularity.  Think  what  a  strange 
being  Shakspeare  has  made  of  Hamlet.  This  character 
undoubtedly  was  the  most  profound  creation  of  that  won- 
derful poet's  teeming  fancy." 

"  No,  no  !  "  exclaimed  Charles.    "  Macbeth,  Macbeth  !  " 

"  Why,  brother  !  "  remarked  Lucy,  with  astonishment. 
"  How  coarse  your  taste  !  " 

"  Why  he  should  have  failed  as  an  actor,  I  cannot  un- 
derstand ;"  spoke  Mrs.  Atlay,  as  she  helped  herself  to  a 
piece  of  cake. 

"  'Tis  evident,"  said  Charles,  "  he  had  no  taste  for  the 
sock  and  buskin,  whereas  he  had  a  powerful  genius  for 
authorship,  but  with  all  his  genius,  there  were  few  plays 
he  wrote  which  exceed  the  scope  of  other  men  of  his  time." 

"  He  was  too  great  a  poet  for  action,"  said  Lucy. 
"  His  strength  was  without  the  world  of  reality,  and  he 
attained  his  lofty  elevation  only  because  he  did  not  employ 
his  powers  in  bearing  the  burdens  of  earth." 

"  In  what  particular,  my  dear,  do  you  conceive  Shak- 
speare to  have  surpassed  other  play- writers  ?  "  interroga- 
ted Mr.  Atlay. 

"  Undoubtedly,  by  his  power  of  the  most  accurate 
observation,"  responded  Lucy,  "  coupled  with  the  pro- 


136  THE    PENNIMANS ;    OK, 

foundest  ability.  Superior  to  all  by  his  reason,  he  was 
accessible  to  all  by  sympathy.  Who  has  sketched  human 
nature  as  he  ?  Is  it  not  strange  that  the  drama,  encour- 
aged in  its  early  rise  in  Greece,  as  it  was,  by  the  noblest 
intellects,  and  in  all  subsequent  time,  numbering  among 
its  supporters  the  most  gifted  of  mankind,  should  meet 
with  so  much  opposition  from  the  clergy,  when  this  very 
class  of  men  in  the  Middle  Ages,  made  use  of  the  stage 
for  the  mysteries  and  moralities,  by  which  the  people  were 
instructed  in  the  leading  facts  of  sacred  history  ?  " 

"  If  they  could  control  it  now,  as  then,"  said  Charles, 
"  they  would  cry  up,  instead  of  crying  down,  dramatic 
genius." 

"  They  will  never  again,  I  apprehend,  possess  that 
power,  and  they  never  should,"  returned  Lucy.  "  The 
drama  is  founded  in  mankind's  love  of  the  beautiful 
and  true ;  it  must  riot  be  cramped  by  mere  religionists 
—  by  fanatical  priests !  It  must  be  free !  It  expresses 
fully  the  ideal  of  man !  His  wide  sweeping  love  of  the 
beautiful  and  true,  which  is  the  very  basis  of  all  re- 
ligion, and  cannot  be  destroyed,  for  it  is  eternal !  Since, 
then,  the  drama  cannot  be  silenced,  but  with  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  human  soul,  it  should  be  made  as  ennobling  as 
possible,  by  receiving  the  support  of  the  most  cultivated 
minds.  Make  the  drama  a  purely  classic  power,  and  all 
connected  with  it  become  elevated  and  noble ;  but  very 
many  people  cannot  comprehend  the  true  mission  of  the 
stage  and  art,  in  general.  Talk  of  making  art  respectable, 
and  they  smile  incredulously  ;  denounce  the  proposition 
an  absurdity.  They  seem  to  entertain  the  idea  that  God 
has  created  the  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  as  tools  for 
the  devil's  use,  rather  than  His  own  glory.  When  will 
such  absurd  notions  give  place  to  more  just  conceptions 
of  the  subject  ?  " 

"  Not  until  the  love  of  art  shall  have  gained  a  complete 
hold  of  our  people,"  said  Mrs.  Atlay.  "Then  will  the 
artist  be  loved  and  honored." 

We  do  not  deem  it  necessary  to  detain  the  reader  longer 
with  the  Atlays.  It  was  a  model  family,  of  which  there 
are  many  in  "  Modern  Athens."  Blessed  with  a  compe- 
tence, and  warm  hearted,  talented  children,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  137 

Atlay  were  the  personification  of  a  "  happy  couple." 
"  Sure  of  their  position,"  they  envied  not  the  position 
of  others,  and  while  courteous  to  all,  toadied  to  none. 
Mrs.  Atlay  was  a  woman  of  fine  presence,  and  had  been 
thoroughly  educated.  She  treated  with  perfect  indiffer- 
ence the  pretensions  of  the  Pennimans,  the  Touchmenots, 
the  Catchpennys,  and  their  pompous  sets,  which  she  term- 
ed "  Bostonians  at  large,"  as  they  were  everywhere  that 
money  could  carry  them  ;  now  in  Europe,  then  at  home  ; 
then  in  the  South,  East,  North  and  West,  by  turns. 
Mrs.  Atlay  was  facetious,  but  never  vulgar ;  there  was 
always  the  Attic  salt  to  all  her  humor,  even  when  pressed 
by  the  most  active  passion.  She  had  the  greatest  possible 
aversion  to  busybodies,  lying,  gad-abouts,  who,  unqualified 
for  any  useful  pursuit,  and  quite  incapable  of  attending  to 
their  own  affairs,  undertake  to  arrange  and  to  manage  the 
affairs  of  others. 

The  Atlays  had  been  so  beset  by  such  plagues,  that  their 
patience,  fortitude,  and  forbearance  had  been  sorely  tried  ; 
but  believing  with  Antisthenes  the  cynic,  an  adherent  of 
the  doctrine  of  Socrates,  that  the  greatest  good  was  the 
avoidance  of  evil,  they  kept  out  of  the  way  of  mischief- 
makers  as  much  as  possible ;  who  are  cowardly,  reckless, 
unscrupulous,  and  the  embodiment  of  that  active  principle 
of  the  human  soul,  vulgarly  called  the  Devil ;  carrying 
strife  and  ruin  wherever  they  go ;  sundering  friendships, 
corrupting  love,  poisoning  the  spring  of  domestic  happi- 
ness ;  rooting  out  all  confidence  between  husband  and 
wife ;  arraying  children  against  their  parents ;  darkening 
even  the  sun  with  the  foul  exhalations  from  their  corrupt, 
plutonian  bodies  ;  confusing  the  good  order  of  society ; 
arraying  man  against  his  God ;  bringing  religion  into  con- 
tempt ;  plucking  up  the  roses  and  planting  thorns  ;  nurs- 
ing hate  wherever  it  may  be  hatched,  with  tenderest  care 
and  solicitude  ;  exulting  over  the  tribulation  of  the  good  ; 
making  merry  where  there  is  a  heavy  fall  from  influence 
and  power ;  and,  finally,  doing  all  and  everything  but  the 
commandments  of  God.  Such,  my  readers,  you  will  find 
as  a  rule  the  detestable  character  of  the  quid-nunc,  or 
busybody.  Shun  these  wretches  as  you  would  the  plague. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  My  daughter  —  oh,  my  daughter  !  " 

THE  Pennimans  had  just  received  letters  from  their 
daughter,  Mrs  McAlpm,  who  was  at  Rome.  This  young 
couple  had  spent  some  time  in  England  and  France,  en- 
joying the  hospitality  of  those  to  whom  they  had  letters  of 
introduction.  They  were  now  in  Italy,  dear  Italy,  the  land 
of  Poets,  Painters,  and  Scholars,  to  which  so  many  perform 
a  pilgrimage,  who  are  familiar  with  the  glorious  past. 
Young  McAlpin,  in  a  measure,  was  qualified  to  under- 
stand and  appreciate  the  classic  renown  of  Italia  ;  he  had 
read  the  most  approved  authors,  with  more  or  less  pleas- 
ure ;  but  his  mind  was  shallow,  and  consequently  there 
could  be  but  little  depth  to  his  acquirements.  He  was 
like  many  other  young  men  who  go  abroad  for  travel, 
much  better  off  at  home  ;  and  for  the  reason,  that  travel, 
instead  of  improving,  spoils  them,  engendering  a  self- 
conceit  and  self-sufficiency,  rendering  them  extremely 
ridiculous.  Nelly's  letters  were  very  amusing  ;  Mrs.  Pen- 
niman  thought  them  model  ones,  and  read  them  to  all  her 
friends.  Mrs.  Penniman  said,  that  whatever  pleased  Aer, 
must  likewise  be  acceptable  to  all  others  ;  she  never  stop- 
ped to  say,  "  by  your  leave,"  but  took  it  for  granted  that 
"  the  King  can  do  no  wrong."  Here  are  the  letters. 

"  Rome,  Italy,  Feb.  — ,  18—. 

MY  DEAR  MAMMA  :  —  Well,  here  we  are  at  last  in  the 
eternal  city ;  both  James  and  myself.  My  last  was  at 
Venice,  and  the  one  before  the  last,  was  at  Genoa.  As 
from  you,  I've  nothing  since  I  left,  with  dear  James,  la 
belle  France  ! !  Oh,  what  a  country  France  is  ;  my  heav- 
ens !  who  would  be  an  American,  with  a  Europe  on  the 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  139 

Globe.  Paris,  my  goodness,  what  a  city ! !  We  had  a 
jolly  time  in  Paris,  I  tell  you ;  but  dear  James  troubled 
me  a  good  deal ;  he  will  drink,  notwithstanding  all  I  say 
to  him ;  and  once  or  twice  he  has  come  home  to  our 
pleasant  apartments  on  the  Rue  Honore,  very  drunk,  in- 
deed ! ! !  I  do  the  best  I  can  for  him ;  bathe  his  head  in 
cold  water,  perfumed  with  violet,  and  give  him  an  emetic; 
in  the  moraing,  '  hock  and  soda  water,'  which  he  likes, 
because  Byronic.  I  tell  you  what,  Mamma,  I  have  got 
'  a  mighty  hard  case,'  for  a  husband,  thanks  to  your 
management !  ! !  I  think,  with  all  due  deference  to  your 
opinion,  that  this  idea  of  marrying  into  '  blooded  families,' 
aint  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be  ;  and  although  I  made  a 
lucky  escape  from  Andrews,  being  now  disgraced,  hope- 
lessly, as  you  write  me,  still,  I  am  afraid  I  married  in  too 
much  of  a  hurry,  and  what  is  a  great  pity,  I  am  '  in  a 
family  way,'  and  expect  to  be  confined  in  the  Holy  Land, 
somewhere  near  Jerusalem.  I  hope,  of  course,  for  a  boy, 
and  a  prodigy.  I  pray  that  he  may  be  a  genius,  for  I  do 
want  a  genius  so  much.  Is  there  not  something  charming 
even  in  the  word  itself.  But,  you  don't  know  how  I  fear 
the  child  will  inherit  his  father's  love  of  rum  —  his  unfor- 
tunate thirst,  which  God  forbid !  We  received  a  great 
deal  of  attention  whilst  at  Paris  from  the  Fairlillies 
and  Dashmedowns  of  New  Orleans,  and  the  Bagpipes  of 
Boston.  You  know  the  family  are  mere  upstarts ;  but,  as 
they  were  kind  to  MS,  you  must  do  what  you  can  for  them, 
at  home  —  advance  them  in  society  all  they  will  bear.  They 
are  very  ambitious,  and  pushing  !  Of  the  Greenbriars,  I 
must  say  a  word.  Mr.  Greenbriar  looks  like  a  monkey. 
You  know  his  wife  ;  she  is  from  Boston.  It  is  amusing  to 
note  their  airs.  They  are  laughed  at  a  good  deal,  and 
called  '  Northern  folks  with  Southern  principles,'  and 
brilliant  snobs !  Most  everybody  from  the  States  gets 
more  or  less  fun  poked  at  them,  by  the  wits.  These  wits 
are  a  nuisance.  You  never  saw  such  a  place  for  gossip. 
People  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  talk  scandal,  and  go 
about  sight  seeing,  to  eat  frogs  and  '  get  tight.'  Just 
think  of  it,  dear  mother,  —  I  ate  frogs'  legs  for  breakfast ! 
and  have  imagined  ever  since,  that  they  were  trying  to  kick 
my  sides  out ;  but  this  is  a  notion,  I  am  informed,  peculiar 


140  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

to  my  delicate  situation.  Oh,  mother,  how  I  wish  you 
was  with  us  ;  how  you  would  have  enjoyed  our  passage 
of  the  Alps !  and  descent  into  the  fertile  plains  of  Lom- 
bardy.  James  was  so  much  '  carried  away '  by  a  classic 
furor  at  realizing  himself  to  be  on  the  '  battle  ground  of 
centuries,'  that  for  some  time  I  was  fearful  he  would  have 
fits ;  for  he  had  a  bottle  of  champagne  under  his  ribs, 
which  was  fuel  to  the  '  hot  fire  of  his  fancy.'  It  is  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  I  manage  to  keep  him  '  out  of 
quarrels,'  with  those  towards  whom  he  conceives  a  dislike. 
He  is  so  pugnacious,  and  fearless  —  he  says,  it's  in  his 
family ;  that  his  father  and  all  his  line !  were  fighting 
men  ;  but  I  sincerely  hope  he'll  not  '  get  into  any  row,' 
and  make  a  widow  of  me  ;  although  my  chance  would  be 
first-rate  for  another  husband,  almost  anywhere  in  Eu- 
rope. (This  portion  of  the  letter  Mrs.  Penniman,  like  a 
prudent  woman,  was  careful  to  skip.)  'Rome  that  sits 
on  her  seven  hills,  and  from  her  throne  of  beauty  rules 
the  world,'  is  a  great  city,  truly ;  and  St.  Peter's !  Oh, 
St.  Peter's !  Angelo's  master-work,  which  is  the  Pantheon 
raised  in  Air !  just  think  of  it !  what  a  genius  he  was  !  It 
is  so  grand  !  that  to  see  it  alone,  is  worth  a  trip  to  Europe. 
James  has  just  stepped  up  to  my  elbow  with  Childe 
Harold's  Pilgrimage  open  at  Canto  48th,  and  I  cannot 
resist  the  temptation  to  quote  some  lines  on  Italy,  which 
are  so  justly  esteemed  beautiful :  — 

•  fair  Italy  ! 

Thou  art  the  garden  of  the  world,  the  home 
Of  all  Art  yields,  and  Nature  can  decree ; 
Even  in  thy  desert  what  is  like  to  thee  ! 
Thy  very  weeds  are  beautiful,  thy  waste 
More  rich  than  other  climes'  fertility; 
Thy  wreck  a  glory,  and  thy  ruin  graced 
With  an  immaculate  charm  which  cannot  be  defaced  ! ' 

Oh,  you  ought  to  see  Santa  Croce,  where  Angelo,  Al- 
fieri,  and  Galileo,  who  so  alarmed  the  priestcraft  with  his 
theory  of  the  heavens,  all  lay  entombed  together,  with 
great  Machiavelli,  as  he  is  called  by  the  enthusiastic 
Italians.  Here  is  a  squad  of  great  men  about  as  intimately 
associated  as  persons  ever  get  to  be.  You  do  not  know 
how  perfectly  furious  husband  was,  to  think  that  the  re- 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  141 

mains  of  Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Boccaccio  were  not  in 
company  with  this  most  illustrious  dust !  He  raved  like 
a  madman,  and  said  the  Italians  were  a  set  of  scoundrels, 
to  tolerate  this  neglect.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  however, 
James  is  always  passionate  over  classic  memories  when 
anything  strikes  him  as  wrong,  particularly  when  he  is 
« tight !  ' 

At  Argua  we  saw  the  tomb  of  Petrarch,  whose  love  for 
Laura  is  so  much  a  matter  of  admiration,  and  deemed  so 
beautiful ;  but  to  my  mind  Petrarch  was  not  so  much  in 
love,  after  all.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  believe  such  men,  who 
are  forever  with  a  pen  in  their  hand,  know  anything  about 
real,  genuine  love.  It  is  true,  they  write  of  it  very  well ; 
but  that's  their  business,  in  which  they  ought  to  be  per- 
fect. Ferrara !  My  gracious,  you  ought  to  see  Ferrara  ; 
it  was  here  that  Tasso  was  confined  by  that  scapegrace 
Alfonso.  And  Ravenna,  too,  this  is  a  place  worth  seeing, 
famous  for  the  tomb  of  Dante.  At  Pansillipo  we  stood 
by  the  tomb  of  Virgil.  You  never  saw  a  fellow  so  carried 
away  as  was  James,  whilst  at  this  classic  spot ;  he  swelled 
with  all  the  emotions  of  a  scholar.  It  is  a  most  romantic 
place,  and  many  are  the  laurel- wreaths  that  pilgrim  hands, 
from  every  clime,  have  strewed  o'er  the  hallowed  shrine 
of  Mantua's  bard.  Some  worthless  people  have  despoiled 
the  urn  of  its  ashes.  It  rests  in  a  rude  building  sheltered 
by  a  rough  rock,  covered  with  mosses. 

At  Venice  we  stood  upon  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  with  the 
ducal  palace  at  one  end,  and  dungeons  at  the  other.  Many 
a  poor  creature  has  passed  from  one  to  the  other,  forsaken 
and  broken-hearted,  to  death.  This  Bridge  of  Sighs  is  a 
covered  gallery,  some  distance  above  the  water.  The  pris- 
oners were  kept  in  places  called  "  pozzi,"  wells  sunk  in 
the  thick  walls  of  the  palace,  from  whence  they  were 
taken,  and  led  across  the  gallery  to  the  other  side,  and 
strangled ! !  Just  think  of  that,  dear  mother,  what  bru- 
tality !  But  it's  just  what  one  might  expect  from  Italians ; 
they  look,  one  and  all,  like  a  set  of  cut-throats. 

All  through  Italy  each  district  has  its  hero.  As  to 
cascades,  my  gracious !  what  can  equal  the  "  Cascarta  del 
Marmoro,"  of  Term.  Switzerland,  with  all  its  torrents, 
is  nothing  to  this.  The  Carpo  de  Bove !  I  wish  you 


142  THE    PENNIMANS ;     OB, 

could  see  the  Carpo  de  Bove ;  'tis  in  the  Appian  Way, 
and  is  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
wealthiest  of  Romans  —  'tis  magnificent !  there  is  nothing 
like  it  at  home.  Trajan's  Column,  one  of  the  best  of 
Roman  princes,  is  a  noble  shaft ;  'tis  surmounted  by  St. 
Peter ;  the  column  to  Aurelius,  by  St.  Paul.  The  Pan- 
theon is  a  fine  structure  ;  we  spent  some  time  here  think- 
ing over  its  renown.  The  Latian  Jupiter,  on  Alban  Hill, 
has  been  succeeded  by  a  Convent ! !  James  says,  this  is 
shameful.  The  view  from  the  top  is  grand,  embracing 
the  Mediterranean.  We  spent  a  very  pleasant  hour  here. 

We  have  had  a  fine  time  in  Italy,  especially  in  Rome. 
I  am,  however,  disgusted  with  the  Italians,  degenerate 
Romans,  are  they,  indeed,  else  would  they  throw  off  the 
bondage  of  foreign  rule.  So  James  declares,  who  swears 
if  he  was  an  Italian,  he  would  give  the  country  no  rest 
until  it  was  either  free,  or  hopelessly  enslaved.  There 
are  some  few  Bostonians  here  ;  nobody,  however,  that  we 
care  to  be  intimate  with;  they  are  not  persons  of  our 
rank.  There  are  many  New  Yorkers  here,  and  some 
Southerners,  whom  we  much  prefer  to  these  "  Boston 
nobodies." 

I  am  making  this  a  very  long  letter,  but  the  truth  is, 
I  have  a  great  deal  to  say.  I  will  write  soon  again  ; 
adieu.  James  sends  his  love.  You  don't  know  how 
sorry  I  am  that  he  takes  so  much  to  brandy  ;  but  one 
thing  is  to  his  praise,  he  will  drink  nothing  but  the  best. 
He  sends  his  love.  We  are  rather  short  of  funds,  and 
hope  in  a  day  or  so  to  receive  remittances. 

Affectionately, 

NELLY." 

We  will  not  detain  the  reader  by  giving  any  more  of 
the  correspondence  of  Mrs.  McAlpin.  Mrs*  Penniman 
had  received  several  letters  from  her  daughter,  since  her 
departure,  —  one  from  London,  and  two  or  three  from 
France ;  but  none  of  them,  as  a  whole,  were  more  worthy 
to  be  laid  before  the  reader,  than  this  one  from  Rome, 
which  we  have  presented.  They  were  all,  however,  read 
by  Mrs.  Penniman  to  her  friends,  with  an  equal  degree 
of  satisfaction.  Indeed,  she  thought  them  quite  worthy 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  143 

to  be  classed  with  the  Correspondence  of  Lady  Montagu ; 
the  letter  from  Rome  she  said  was  "  the  highest  point 
of  excellence."  "  Her  daughter,"  was  ever  on  her  lips  ; 
she  was  so  beautiful,  so  accomplished,  so  well  formed, 
had  such  a  pretty  foot,  such  a  sparkling  eye,  such  a  lofty 
spirit,  so  sweet  a  voice,  so  happy  a  wit,  so  charming  a 
smile,  and  such  a  genteel  laugh  —  in  fact  was  so  perfect  at 
all  points,  that  the  modest  and  virtuous  mother  would 
often  say  to  herself,  "  well,  I  declare,  I  never  thought  Mr. 
Penniman  equal  to  all  this."  Of  course  such  an  idea, 
"  so  shocking,"  as  she  would  say  —  to  hear  it  spoken,  never 
passed  her  lips ;  nor  did  many  other  beautiful  samples  of 
her  lucubrations  ever  find  their  way  to  the  light  of  day. 
She  was  a  person  who  thought  not  only  twice,  but  four 
times  twice,  before  she  spoke,  and  whenever  she  did 
speak,  she  gave  mankind  to  understand  —  'twas  Mrs. 
Penniman. 

"  She  had  a  certain  way  with  her,"  which  she  declared 
was  expressive  of  her  quality ;  and  whenever  she  was 
thrown  into  the  company  of  those,  who  did  not  appear  to 
endorse  her  pretensions,  she  would  say  "  how  uncomfort- 
able to  be  among  those  whose  inferiority  is  so  palpable. 
It  is  my  misfortune  once  in  a  while,  as  it  is  all  people  of 
rank  to  fall  among  dirt  and  ignorance,  and  so,  too,  it  is 
their  especial  happiness  to  get  away  from  it  as  soon  as 
possible."  There  were  many  capital  stories  told  of  this 
extensive  lady,  none  of  which  are  more  humorous  than 
this  to  follow.  She  was  out  shopping  one  pleasant  day 
with  her  daughters,  and  among  the  numerous  places, 
where  her  expensive  carriage  was  to  be  seen  standing, 
while  her  ladyship  was  absent  in  the  store,  was  the  shop 
of  a  Jeweller  —  a  very  clever,  though  sometimes  testy 
foreigner,  who  had  frequently  been  honored  with  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Penniman,  and  though  never  a  dollar  had 
she  dropped  into  his  till,  yet  she  had  consumed  much 
of  his  time  and  put  him  to  great  inconvenience. 

On  this  occasion  she  had  fancied  a  handsome  clock,  but 
she  did  not  exactly  know  how  it  would  appear  on  her 
mantlepiece,  and  wished  the  Jeweller  to  send  it  at  once 
to  her  residence,  on  trial.  The  shopman  looked  at  her 
somewhat  attentively,  and  then  remarked  : 


144  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OK, 

"  Marm,  I  should  tink  you  could  see,  now,  here,  how 
dis  splended  clock  would  look  on  vone  mantlepiece ;  it 
must  of  course  looks  veil." 

"  I  want  at  once  this  clock  sent  to  my  house,  sir,  and 
if  I  like  it  I  will  keep  it ;  "  returned  the  lady. 

"  Veil,  how  long  vill  you  keep  it  widout  pay.  I  vant 
my  pay  ven  I  let  my  tings  go  from  store." 

"  Sir,  I  am  Mrs.  Penniman,  and  pay  for  all  I  pur- 
chase ; "  responded  the  lady,  in  a  very  dignified  manner. 

"  Yes,  you  pay  for  vat  you  purchase ; "  returned  the 
Jeweller,  "  dat  is  veil.  But  if  you  take  my  clock  and 
keep  it  vone  month,  and  no  buy,  dat  I  should  not  like  ; 
because  oters  might  like  to  buy  in  all  dat  time,  vile  you 
are  looking  at  it  on  your  vantelpiece." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  lady,  indignantly,  "  I  wish  you  to  re- 
member I  am  Mrs.  Penniman  of  Penniman  Square,  and 
will  not  be  insulted  in  this  manner.  Everybody  who 
knows  me,  sir,  is  glad  of  my  patronage,  and  want  it 
on  any  terms." 

"  Veil,"  said  the  shopman,  his  face  crimsoned  with  pas- 
sion, "I  —  I  —  dont  vant  it  at  all.  I  don't  care  vone 
damn,  if  you  are  Mrs.  Venniman ;  or  Mrs.  Tennyman,  or 
vat  de  devil  you  are,  you  no  cannot  have  my  clock  for 
your  vantelpiece  over  vone  day." 

"  Sir,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Penniman  in  a  rage,  "  you  are 
a  brute !  "  and  with  this  "  she  and  her  girls  "  walked  out 
of  the  store,  as  the  Jeweller  remarked :  "  I  don't  care 
vone  damn  —  you  can  go  to  h — 11,  Mrs.  Venniman.  You 
come  to  my  store  many  times ;  you  no  spend  vone  cent. 
I  no  care  vone  damn,  Mrs.  Venniman!" 

At  these  words  the  enraged  trader  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  uncombed  hair,  and  muttering  to  himself 
some  horrid  oaths  resumed  his  seat  at  the  marble  slab 
where  he  was  at  work.  Mrs.  Penniman  had  often  been 
snubbed,  but  she  had  never  received  before  so  wholesome 
a  check,  as  this  of  the  Jeweller's.  With  whomsoever, 
and  whatsoever  she  came  in  contact  she  wished  to  master ; 
she  desired  all  things  and  everybody  to  yield  to  her  views ; 
if  they  did  not  they  were  denounced  and  despised. 

Many  who  were  knowing  to  her  weakness  as  respects 
the  estimation  in  which  she  held  her  children,  especially 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  GENIUS.  145 

Nelly,  whom  she  so  much  preferred,  because  she  had  won 
the  affections  of  the  son  of  so  popular  a  man  as  the  Hon. 
Mr.  McAlpin,  — ' because,  too,  she  had  administered  to  her 
highest  ambition,  which  was  to  ally  herself  with  "  one  of 
the  oldest  and  best  blooded  families  of  genius  in  the  city." 

Nelly  had  realized  all  this  for  her  mamma,  .and  her 
mamma  thought  her  a  perfect  treasure.  Of  the  many 
letters  which  she  had  written  to  her  daughter,  since  her 
absence,  we  can  in  no  better  way  entertain  the  reader 
fur  a  few  moments,  than  to  give  the  one  in  answer  to 
that  from  Nelly,  which  has  been  presented. 

Boston, ,  18 — . 

My   much    loved,    preferred    accomplished    and    darling 

daughter. 

Your  letters  come  to  me  like  rain  from  heaven  to  dusty 
streets.  I  am  ever  thursty,  dry,  in  thought  of  you,  dear. 
(The  reader  will  note  the  grammar  in  particular.)  And 
to  think  that  you  are  to  be  cunfined,  and  I  away  from  you, 
'tis  a  pity  and  a  shame,  mind  and  keep  up  your  spirits, 
and  dont  for  God  sake,  get  cold  when  the  child  is  born. 
Keep  warm  —  wrap  up  in  flannels  —  or  your  after  pains, 
will  be  pains  indeed,  they  will  be  killing  pains.  I  don't 
want  to  frighten  you,  but  as  it  is  your  first  child,  you 
must  be  careful.  I  had  a  terrible  time  with  my  first, 
which  as  I  have  often  told  you  did  not  live,  and  could 
not  live  —  it  had  so  much  to  incounter.  Now,  be  you 
cortious,  and  do  just  as  your  doctor  tells  you,  provided  he 
does  not  tell  you  to  do  anything  immodest,  Some  of 
these  wretches  are  exceedingly,  out  fat,  (I  believe  that  is 
the  french  of  what  I  would  say,)  that  is,  they  are  clever 
at  suggesting  much  to  be  done,  of  which  there  is  not  the 
least  necessity.  You  know  how  it  often  times  is  with 
some  dentists  ;  mind,  I  say  some  only,  who  when  they 
get  a  pritty  woman  in  ether,  they  do  just  what  they  please. 
But  I  think  there  are  very  few  in  Boston  who  are  not  safe. 

If  you  should  happen  to  have  a  boy,  how  glad  I  shall 
be  —  girls  are  not  so  desirable.  You  can  do  with  a  boy, 
what  you  can't  with  a  girl  —  and  girls,  too,  you  know  are 
always  liable  to  misgoes  —  to  get  in  love  when  they  ought 
not  to,  and  often  times  to  get  into  a  peck  of  trouble  out 
of,  as  well  as  in,  wedlock.  If  you  have  a  boy,  I  shall 
7 


146  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

deem  it  a  God-send  —  and  the  day  of  his  birth  will  be 
the  happiest  of  my  life  —  it  will,  indeed.  And  if  he 
proves  a  genius  —  worthy  of  our  blood,  and  that  of  the 
McAlpins,  I  shall  fairly  leap  with  joy.  But,  my  dear,  be 
careful,  be  careful,  and  keep  your  bed,  until  '  all  is  well 
over '  —  for  if  you  get  a  cold,  I  shall  never  expect  to  set 
eyes  on  you  again.  Everybody  is  enquiring  about  you  ; 
and  want  to  know  when  you  will  return,  but  I  tell  them 
what  I  please.  They  think  you  write  equal  to  Lady 
Montagu,  and  Look  for  a  book  of  your  travels.  Do  my 
dear  have  letters  prepared  for  the  press.  Your  father,  I 
shall  command,  to  furnish  you  with  whatever  money  you 
want  '  to  go  through  the  press ; '  or  through  anything 
else,  that  will  make  you  famous.  I  am  determined  your 
parts  shall  shine.  What  is  the  use  in  a  woman's  having 
parts,  unless  she  makes  them  known.  The  letters  which 
have  of  late  been  published  are  mere  trash.  The  foolish 
women  who  have  edited  them,  I  don't  believe  ever  saw 
Europe ;  and  compared  to  your  genius,  they  are  as  dirt  to 
calf-foot  jelly.  I  made  this  semmeli  the  other  day  to  Mrs. 
Touchmenot,  and  with  her  usual  ridiculous  air  of  pride, 
she  said  '  beautiful,  it  is  really  fine.' 

"  You  don't  know  how  I  despise  all  these  people  ;  still, 
they  have  position,  my  darling,  and  I  must  appear  to  re- 
spect them.  I  don't  know  any  one  whom  I  love  better 
than  myself,  unless  it  is  you.  All  the  persons  whom  you 
mention  in  your  letter  are  mere  upstarts  ;  they  have  con- 
trived to  get  position  by  their  money,  but  good  Heavens  ! 
what  is  money  without  education,  and  refinement  by  na- 
ture !  If  nature  don't  make  people  gentle,  what  I  wish 
to  learn,  can. 

"  Andrews,  and  his  lady  love  as  they  call  her,  (one 
Agnes  Farriday,  a  common  thing ;  they  say  a  night- 
walker,)  is  just  now  the  '  town  talk.'  She  is  thought  to 
be  as  bad  as  any  of  the  jvomen  she  pretends  to  reform. 
Its  all  humbug  —  the  idea  of  such  a  creature  reforming 
any  one.  Andrews  is  lost,  and  hopelessly.  What  a 
lucky  escape  you  made  ;  thank  Heaven  for  all  such  favors. 
My  dear  you  must  say  your  prayers  once  in  a  while.  I 
know  the  gay  life  in  which  you  are,  does  not  dispose  to 
this  ;  but  you  must  never  forget  your  God,  no,  never : 
He  is  my  chief  support :  since  I  put  no  confidence  in  any 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.       .  147 

one  but  your  father's  pocket ;  and  if  God  forsakes  us  here, 
we  are  forsaken,  indeed.  My  dear,  I  find  every  day  of  my 
life,  money  to  be  more,  and  more  of  an  itim ;  and  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  there  is  anything  under  the 
sun,  so  great  a  specific  for  diseases  in  general  as  plenty  to 
eat  and  drink  and  attentions  from  those,  who  are  one's 
equals  and  superiors. 

"  People  are  buzzing  about  me,  making  my  acquaint- 
ance, and  actually  truckling  to  me  in  every  way,  for 
favors  ;  they  know  we  have  wealth,  you  see  ;  and  I  know, 
they  will  not  get  one  cent  of  it  further  than  I  can  get  two 
out  of  them.  That  is  the  way  to  do  it,  my  dear.  It  is 
well  enough  to  be  pleasant  with  those  whose  acquaintance 
is  desirable,  but  take  care,  they  don't  as  your  father  says, 
'  get  a  snap  judgment '  on  you,  or,  in  no  manner,  ahead  of 
you.  You  see,  as  dollars  constitute  real  sound  respeta- 
bility,  we  must  be  careful  to  make  them  all  tell.  And 
whenever  we  find  any  one  trying  to  spunge  us,  no  matter 
how  well  connected,  or  pretentious  they  are,  that  instant 
we  must  mark  them  for  inspection  and  inquiry.  This  is 
the  only  way  for  one  to  keep  up  in  Zi/e,-and  so  we  have 
had  to  manage  all  along. 

"  I'll  give  you  all  my  experience  in  time,  so  that  you 
shall  flourish  upon  it  —  I  trust  with  God's  good  grace, 
forever !  I  have  no  time  to  write  you  a  longer  letter ; 
besides  my  finger  —  my  pen  finger  I  mean,  is  so  sore,  I 
could  not  —  if  I  had  the  time  even  write  any  more.  Take 
good  care  of  James,  and  keep  him  from  drink,  for  Hea- 
ven's sake !  why,  this  is  disgraceful.  I  wish  I  was  with 
you,  I'd  break  every  bottle  I  got  hold  of,  or  put  into  them 
tartar  emetic,  or  some  other  kind  of  compound  that  should 
straighten  him  out  or  up,  one  or  the  other.  I  suppose  if 
he  should  die,  you  could  easily  get  married  as  well.  I 
don't  for  a  moment  doubt  this ;  because  you  have  to  go 
upon,  the  prastige  of  the  McAlpin  name  !  and  that  is  tre- 
mendous !  much  is  in  a  name  !  I  don't  care  what  to  the 
contrary  the  devilish  poets  say ;  among  whom  is  that 
wretch  of  a  Hamilton,  the  fact  totum  of  Andrews,  who 
insulted  you  by  predicting  damnation  for  you  at  your  wed- 
ding. I  think  if  the  wretch  was  a  woman,  he'd  have  no 
objection  to  as  much  of  such  damnation  as  yours,  as  he 
could  procure. 


148  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

"  But  these  plebeians  —  have  I  not  had  enough  of  them. 
I  am  heartily  sick  of  all  such  cattle.  They  envy  what 
they  cannot  attain  —  poor  devils,  indeed.  Love  to  An- 
drews. Take  good  care  of  your  baby,  and  don't  take  cold. 
Let  me  know  at  once,  what  sort  of  luck  you  have  —  a 
boy,  a  boy,  my  kingdom  for  a  boy  !  Good  bye.  You 
shall  have  remittances  at  once.  J  guide  the  purse.  From 
your  dear,  prayerful,  devoted,  MA.MA." 

Such  was  Madam  Penniman,  and  such  was  "  her  style," 
—  and  reader  is  it  not  a  charming  style,  and  is  she  not  a 
charming  creature,  "  standing  as  she  does  at  the  head  of 
society."  What  a  head,  to  be  sure ;  what  a  bosom,  heart, 
and  soul ;  who  does  not  envy  all  this  loveliness,  and  who, 
O,  who  would  not  be  a  Penniman  !  To  be  bowed  obse- 
quiously to,  to  be  flattered,  and  feasted,  courted  and  in 
every  manner  to  be  informed,  that  one  stands  first !  Ay, 
first !  at  the  very  top  of  the  ladder  of  good  things  ;  plen- 
ty to  eat,  and  plenty  to  drink,  and  plenty  to  dare  with, 
even  to  the  very  point  of  shamelessnees  ;  yet,  your  position 
is  safe.  You  have  money,  you  have  impudence,  you  have 
a  certain  qualtity  of  brain,  which  enables  you  to  think 
yourself  of  the  highest  consequence,  whether  you  are  so 
or  not.  You  can  eat  three  good  meals  a  day,  you  can 
enjoy  fully  all  physical  delights,  and  some  mental  ones, 
which  are  twins  to  the  physique ;  you  can  talk  loud  and 
large  ;  you  can  backbite  with  a  relish  ;  you  can  misapply 
good  actions,  and  scandalize  worthy  merit ;  you  can  eat 
hot  pies,  without  suffering  any  ill  effects ;  you  can  be  all 
things  unto  all  men ;  piously  Scriptural  in  this,  if  nothing 
else ;  you  can  be  witty  with  a  laugh  loud  and  long,  at 
your  own  felicity  ;  you  can  go  to  the  theatre,  and  be  in- 
structed and  amused  by  incomparable  genius,  the  especial 
ministers  of  God  !  you  can  then  go  home,  and  abuse  the 
stage,  and  denounce  all  connected  with  it  as  "  cattle ;  "  a 
most  elegant,  and  natural  expression  in  the  mouths  of  the 
Pennimans.  You  can  "  cut  an  acquaintance  "  in  misfor- 
tune ;  and  you  can  do  a  thousand  other  as  meritorious 
acts,  at  your  august  will  and  pleasure,  and  yet  no  one  will 
especially  complain,  since  you  are  "  certain  of  your  posi- 
tion," and  in  good  credit  with  the  Bar. 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENItTS.  149 

• 

This  is  life,  the  best  of  life,  "  the  only  life  worth  hav- 
ing." Who  would  be  just,  who  would  be  truly  virtuous, 
who  would  worship  God  as  a  verity  ;  who  would  be 
natural;  perfectly  sincere;  appearing  just  as  they  are; 
doing  not  for  effect,  but  every  thing  from  a  sense  of  actual 
duty  —  who  would  lead  such  a  measly  life  as  this  ;  "  such 
an  existence  is  not  worth  having,"  —  who  would  be  in 
harmony  with  nature,  and  the  daily  companion  of  God  ! 
"Who  would  when  they  take  the  hand  of  a  fellow  being, 
feel  that  it  is  indeed  the  hand  of  friendship  —  that  there 
is  between  man  and  man  a  tie  of  sympathy,  which  must 
last  for  aye,  however  disregarded  and  forgotten  it  may 
be  ?  Not  the  "  Penniman  set,"  nor  any  other  set,  who 
arrogate  to  themselves  any  special  grace,  because  that  they 
are  rich  —  because  that  they  can  have  peas  when  they  first 
come  to  market,  and  "  fruit  of  the  highest  cost,"  —  be- 
cause that  they  can  control  the  banks  and  shave  the  notes 
of  needy  men,  with  money  from  these  banks  unfairly 
gained  —  because  they  can  wear  kid  gloves,  French  boots, 
and  pay  for  "an  enormous  wash" — because  that  they 
can  insult  the  law,  and  employ  able  counsel  to  do  the 
amende  honorable  —  because  they  can  make  game  of  "  in- 
dustrious habits,"  and  scoff  at  the  sturdy  arm  of  toil  — 
because  that  they  can  cry  up  their  own  stupidity,  and  pass 
it  among  themselves  as  current  coin :  —  Grace,  indeed,  is 
theirs,  —  because  they  can  do  all  this,  and  much  more,  too 
tedious  to  mention  —  because  they  are  incompetent  to  be 
either  truly  men  or  women,  but  only  the  counterfeit  of 
them  —  monstrosities  of  nature !  who  daily  falsify  humani- 
ty, and  mock  at  those  moral  laws  of  Deity,  which  He  has 
written  in  every  heart,  and  upon  every  window  of  the 
soul :  —  thus,  it  can  look  and  perceive  in  no  direction 
without  these  holy  lessons  of  love  and  truth,  to  guide 
them  on  to  happiness  and  perfect  harmony,  with  that  re- 
splendent sun  of  the  spiritual  world,  in  the  midst  of  which 
the  Creator  dwells,  and  from  which  is  dispersed  His  in- 
fluence and  his  laws ! 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  ANGELS  do  not  always  appear  under  a  visible  or  sensible  form,  nor  in 
a  figure  uniformly  the  same,  but  they  give  proof  of  their  presence  by  an 
infinity  of  different  ways  —  by  inspirations,  by  voices,  by  prodigies,  by 
miraculous  effects,  by  predictions  of  the  future,  and  other  things  hidden 
and  impenetrable  to  the  human  mind.  The  angel  who  might  have  killed 
Balaam's  ass  was  not  at  first  perceived  by  the  prophet.  Daniel  was  the  only 
one  who  beheld  the  angel  Gabriel.  When  the  evils  to  fall  on  the  family 
of  the  high  Priest  Eli  were  told  to  Samuel,  the  young  prophet  saw  no  vis- 
ible form;  he  only  heard  a  voice." 

ME.  ANDKEWS  had  doted  on  his  son,  and  had  high  ex- 
pectations of  his  prospects  in  life,  since  he  went  into  the 
service  of  Messrs.  Catchpenny  &  Co.  It  was  with  no 
little  difficulty  that  he  succeeded  in  securing  for  him  a 
situation  with  this  firm,  as  there  was  a  number  of  appli- 
cants, all  of  whom  were  young  men  of  good  ability  and 
prepossessing  appearance. 

Mr.  Andrews  had  not  been  unobservant  of  the  great 
power  of  wealth,  and  the  especial  regard  which  was  paid 
to  the  representatives  of  it  in  "  New  England."  He  had 
counselled  his  son  by  all  honorable  means  to  acquire  it, 
and  when  he  placed  him  with  Catchpenny,  he  believed 
that  he  had  put  him  on  the  road  to  fortune ;  he  was  happy 
in  the  thought ;  for  Mr.  Andrews  was  a  very  "  high  spir- 
ited man,"  and  would  have  his  son  possessed  of  that 
power,  the  want  of  which  he  had  been  so  much  in  need 
of  himself,  to  command  the  consideration  of  our  best 
society.  The  loss  of  his  situation  with  Catchpenny  was 
a  great  disappointment  to  the  father,  whose  health,  for 
some  time  declining,  now  began  rapidly  to  fail. 

It  was  on  a  day  about  six  weeks  after  young  Andrews' 
encounter  with  Rolston,  in  a  room  of  the  second  story  of 
his  father's  dwelling,  lay  bolstered  up  in  bed  a  man  with 
stern,  though  handsome  features,  and  emaciated  form, 
whose  breathing  was  exceedingly  short  and  difficult,  and 
whose  eye  was  dark  and  brilliant  with  soul.  His  hair 
was  partially  grey ;  his  beard  and  moustache  almost  wholly 
so. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  151 

Beside  him  sat  a  young  man  and  woman,  in  whose 
countenances  were  the  deep  marks  of  sorrow,  and  with 
whom  the  old  gentleman  was  in  conversation.  It  was 
midnight,  and  a  terrible  storm  raged  without ;  the  light- 
ning was  never  more  vivid,  nor  the  thunder  more  terrible  ; 
it  shook  the  house  from  "  turret  to  foundation  stone." 
The  group  of  three  whom  we  have  mentioned  were  Agnes 
Farriday,  young  Andrews,  and  his  father.  Mrs.  Andrews, 
exhausted  by  the  care  of  her  husband,  had  retired  to  bed 
in  a  room  adjoining.  It  was  at  the  request  of  Mr. 
Andrews  that  Agnes  Farriday  was  present.  The  old 
gentleman  was  dying !  and  would  not  probably  survive 
the  night ;  but  neither  the  son  nor  Agnes  suspected  his 
end  to  be  so  near.  After  remaining  some  time  silent,  he 
took  the  hand  of  William,  and  pressing  it  warmly  in  his 
own,  thus  spoke  : 

"  My  noble  boy,  in  you  I  have  had  many  hopes."  At 
these  words  he  motioned  his  son  to  draw  near  the  bed- 
side. He  now  placed  his  hand  upon  his  head,  and  twin- 
ing around  his  fore-finger  a  lock  of  the  young  man's  light 
glossy  hair,  he  thus  continued  : 

"  They  were,  however,  all  of  this  world  selfish  and  un- 
christian ;  I  was  ambitious  that  you  should  be  in  the  material 
world,  a  giant ;  that  you  should  be  a  rich  man,  ay,  Willie, 
rich  !  and  live  in  as  much  style  as  those  heartless  capital- 
ists who  make  style  their  God ;  but  now  that  I  know  in  this 
my  last  sickness,  from  a  vivid  perception  and  realization 
of  spiritual  truth,  the  utter  worthlessness  of  worldly  pos- 
sessions, and  the  danger  there  is  to  the  soul  if  oppressed 
with  too  many  material  cares,  I  would  say  to  you  let  love 
be  the  governing  principle  of  your  life ;  and  seek  rather 
to  be  good  than  to  be  great.  Be  true  to  Agnes,  as  she 
will  be  most  true  to  you.  She  is  one  of  the  noblest  of 
women." 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  have  long  been  sensible  of  the  worth  of 
sweet  Agnes,"  rejoined  the  son ;  "  and  she  knows  it  too." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  I  do,"  returned  Agnes. 

"  Methinks,  I  see  Throckmorton ;"  said  the  father.  "Yes, 
here  he  is,  beside  my  bed  ;  he  smiles  and  shines  with  a 
most  peculiar  light ;  he  takes  my  hand,  and  now  he  kisses 
me ;  tells  me  of  his  happiness,  and  says  I  soon  shall  be 
able  to  go  with  him." 


152  THE    PEXXIMANS;    OR, 

"  Your  sight  must  be  most  clear,  sir,  to  see  the  poor 
old  beggar,"  remarked  the  young  man,  not  a  little  sur- 
prised at  his  father's  speech. 

"  My  sight  is  wondrous  clear,"  rejoined  the  old  gen- 
tleman. "  I  can  see  through  an  immensity  of  space  ; 
there  are  many  spirits  in  the  distance ;  but  Throckmor- 
ton  alone  is  by  me.  He  says,  tell  Willie,  I  love  him  as 
myself,  and  that  the  poor  old  beggar  whom  he  watched  on 
earth,  does  not  forget  him  in  his  spirit  sphere.  Tell  him, 
too,  that  in  Agnes  he  has  found  a  treasure,  in  comparison 
to  which  Nelly  Penniman  and  Ida  Robertson  have  little 
or  no  value.  Tell  him,  too,  that  he  has  genius,  and  one 
to  love  him,  capable  of  appreciating  it.  Tell  him,  I  am 
happy,  and  so  will  he  be,  when  he  shall  see  Christ,  and 
awake  to  the  reality  of  his  power." 

"  Oh,  sir,  this  is  indeed  a  great  privilege,  to  see  so 
clear,"  said  William.  "  I  have  always  entertained  the 
hope  of  attaining  to  this." 

"You  will,  my  son,"  rejoined  Mr.  Andrews,  "as  your 
mind  more  and  more  develops.  Throckmorton  thinks  so 
too." 

"  You  know,"  said  Agnes,  "  I  have  always  thought  you 
would  come  to  this  state." 

As  she  concluded,  she  remarked  a  strange  appearance 
in  the  face  of  Mr.  Andrews,  whom  she  thought  dead. 
She  seized  his  hand ;  it  was  icy  cold. 

The  son  raised  his  father's  head,  who,  perceiving  their 
agitation,  thus  spoke  : 

"  I  am  very  weak,  my  children,  and  cannot  long  re- 
main connected  with  the  body.  I  shall  leave  you  on 
my  way  to  a  country  where  sorrow  is  not,  nor  unsatisfied 
desires,  —  where  all  is  harmony  !  " 

**  Would  we,  too,  might  travel  with  you,"  rejoined  the 
son,  in  a  soft,  sweet  tone. 

"  Be  content  to  go  when  your  appointed  time  arrives," 
replied  Mr.  Andrews ;  "  be  not  impatient" 

"  What  is  death,  sir,  —  can  you  explain  the  process?" 
interrogated  Agnes. 

"  Yes,  my  love,  oh,  yes,"  replied  the  dying  man. 
"  The  philosophy  of  death  is  the  philosophy  of  change ; 
not  of  change  in  the  constitution  or  personality  of  the 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  153 

individual,  but  a  change  in  the  situation  of  the  human 
spiritual  principle  ;  which,  instead  of  being  situated  in  an 
earthly  body,  is  placed  in  a  spiritual  organization ;  and, 
instead  of  living  among  the  objects  and  personalities  of 
the  planet  upon  which  the  individual  spirit  was  born,  its 
situation  is  so  altered  as  to  fit  it  to  live  amidst  more 
beauteous  forms,  and  in  higher  societies.  Death  causes 
no  more  alteration  in  the  condition  of  the  individual, 
than  the  bursting  of  a  rose  bud  causes  in  the  situation 
and  condition  of  the  flower. 

"  Every  thing  is  being  incessantly  '  born  again,'  or 
changed  from  one  state  of  being  to  another ;  and  this 
change  is  accompanied,  accomplished,  and  confirmed,  by 
transitional  movements,  or  processes,  which  mankind  term 
death.  In  the  last  moments  of  outer  life,  the  spiritual  per- 
ceptions are  greatly  expanded  and  illuminated,  and  the 
spirit  is  thus  rendered  competent  to  behold  the  immense 
possession  of  its  second  habitation." 

Here  the  old  gentleman  suddenly  stopped,  and  seemed 
quite  exhausted;  he  locked  his  hands  in  each  other,  and 
placed  them  on  his  bosom,  as  if  in  prayer.  William  felt  of 
his  pulse,  and  found  an  alarming  degree  of  weakness.  He 
spoke  to  his  father,  but  received  no  answer ;  again  and 
again  he  spoke ;  no  answer.  He  saw  there  was  yet  life 
in  his  parent,  so  slight,  however,  he  scarcely  expected 
him  to  continue  more  than  an  hour. 

"  Had  you  not  better  wake  your  mother  ? "  inter- 
rogated Agnes. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Mr.  Andrews,  "  by  no  means,  let  her 
sleep ;  she  needs  it,  and  besides  I  know  her  to  be  per- 
fectly reconciled  to  my  departure.  I  wish  to  be  silent  a 
few  moments,  when  I  will  resume  my  discourse  on  death." 

Some  ten  minutes  elapsed,  when,  in  a  voice  almost  in- 
audible, he  continued  his  converse,  during  which  time 
Agnes  and  her  lover  were  motionless,  gazing  with  sad 
countenances  into  the  pallid  and  expressive  face  of  Mr. 
Andrews,  who  spoke  as  follows  :  — 

"  The   process  of  death  is   in  this  wise  :  —  First  the 

head  of  the  body  becomes  suddenly  enveloped  in  a  fine, 

soft,  mellow,  luminous  atmosphere ;  and,  as  instantly  the 

cerebrum  and  the  cerebellum  expand  their  most  interior 

7* 


154  THE    PENNIMAXS  ;    OB, 

portions ;  they  discontinue  their  appropriate  galvanic  func- 
tions ;  and  then  they  become  highly  charged  with  the 
vital  electricity,  and  vital  magnetism,  which  permeate 
subordinate  systems  and  structures;  that  is  to  say,  the 
brain,  as  a  Avhole,  suddenly  declared  itself  to  be  tenfold 
more  positive  over  the  lesser  portions  of  the  body  than 
it  ever  was  during  the  period  of  health.  This  phenom- 
enon invariably  precedes  physical  dissolution.  Now,  the 
process  of  dying,  or  of  the  spirit's  departure  from  the 
body,  fully  commences.  The  brain  begins  to  attract  the 
elements  of  electricity,  of  magnetism,  of  motion,  of  life, 
and  of  sensation,  into  its  various  and  numerous  depart- 
ments. The  head  becomes  intensely  brilliant ;  and  just 
in  the  same  proportions  the  extremities  of  the  organism 
grow  dark  and  cold,  the  brain  appears  light  and  ghw- 
ing!  Then,  in  the  mellow  spiritual  atmosphere,  which 
emanates  from  and  encircles  the  head,  the  indistinct  out- 
lines of  the  formation  of  another  head  may  be  seen  ! 
These  super-sensuous  processes  are  not  visible  to  any  one 
except  the  spiritual  perceptions  be  unfolded  ;  for  material 
eyes  can  .only  behold  material  things,  and  spiritual  eyes 
can  only  behold  spiritual  things.  This  new  head  unfolds 
more  and  more  distinctly,  and  so  indescribably  compact, 
and  intensely  brilliant  does  it  become,  that  it  is  neither 
to  be  seen  through,  nor  gazed  on,  steadily,  as  one  might 
desire ;  while  this  spiritual  head  is  being  eliminated  and 
organized  from  out  of  and  above  the  material  head,  the 
surrounding  aromal  atmosphere,  emanating  from  the  ma- 
terial head,  is  in  great  commotion  ;  but  as  the  new  head 
becomes  more  distinct  and  perfect,  this  brilliant  atmos- 
phere gradually  disappears.  This  teaches  us  that  those 
aromal  elements,  which  were  in  the  beginning  of  the 
metamorphoses  attracted  from  the  system  into  the  brain, 
and  thence  liminated  in  the  form  of  an  atmosphere, 
were  indissolubly  united  in  accordance  with  the  divine 
principle  of  affinity  in  the  universe,  which  pervades  and 
destinates  every  particle  of  matter,  and  develops  the  spir- 
itual head  of  which  I  have  spoken.  In  the  identical 
manner  in  which  the  spiritual  head  was  unchangeably 
organized,  is  unfolded,  in  their  natural  progressive  order, 
the  harmonious  development  of  the  neck,  the  shoulders, 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  155 

the  breast,  and  the  entire  spiritual  organization.  Whilst 
this  spiritual  formation  goes  on  visible  to  the  spiritual 
perceptions,  alone,  the  material  body  manifests  often 
times  to  the  outer  visions  of  observers,  many  symptoms 
of  uneasiness  and  pain  ;  but  these  indications  are  totally 
deceptive ;  they  are  wholly  caused  by  the  departure  of 
the  vital,  or  spiritual  forces,  from  the  extremities  and 
viscera,  into  the  brain,  and  thence  into  the  ascending 
organism. 

"  The  spirit  arises  at  right  angels  over  the  head,  or  brain 
of  the  deserted  body.  But  immediately  previous  to  the 
final  dissolution  of  the  relationship  which  subsists  be- 
tween the  spiritual  and  material  bodies,  there  is  playing 
energetically  between  the  feet  of  the  elevated  spiritual 
body,  and  the  head  of  the  prostrate  physical  body,  a  bright 
stream  or  current  of  vital  electricity. 

"  The  birth  of  a  child  into  this  world,  and  the  birth  of 
the  spirit  from  the  material  body,  into  a  higher  world,  is 
absolute  and  complete! — even  to  the  umbilical  cord! 
which  is  represented  by  the  thread  of  vital  electricity, 
which  for  a  few  minutes  subsists  between  and  connects 
the  two  organisms  together.  It  sometimes  happens  that 
immediately  subsequent  to  the  separation  of  the  umbilical 
thread,  a  portion  of  the  vital  electrical  element  passes 
back  into  the  earthly  organism,  and  diffusing  itself 
through  the  entire  structure,  thus  prevents  immediate 
decomposition.  It  is  not  proper,  therefore,  that  a  body 
be  deposited  in  the  earth,  until  after  decomposition  has 
positively  commenced ;  for,  should  there  be  no  positive 
evidences  of  such  structural  change,  even  though  life 
seems  surely  to  have  departed,  it  is  not  right  to  consign 
the  body  to  the  grave. 

"  The  umbilical  life  cord  is  sometimes  not  severed  ;  but 
is  drawn  out  into  the  finest  possible  medium  of  sym- 
pathetic connection  between  the  body  and  spirit.  This 
is  invariably  the  case  when  individuals  apparently  die, 
and,  after  being  absent  a  few  days,  or  hours,  return  as 
from  a  peaceful  journey,  to  relate  their  spiritual  expe- 
riences ;  such  phenomena  are  modernly  termed,  trances, 
catalepsy,  somnambulism  and  spiritual  ecstases.  There 
are  many  different  stages,  or  divisions  of  these  states. 


156  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

But  when  the  spirit  is  arrested  in  its  flight  from  the  body, 
and  when  it  is  held  in  a  transitional,  or  mediatorial  state, 
for  only  a  few  hours,  or  minutes,  then  the  mind  seldom 
retains  a  recollection  of  its  experience  —  this  state  of 
forgetfulness  seems  to  a  superficial  observer,  like  anni- 
hilation ;  and  this  occasional  suspension  of  consciousness, 
or  memory,  is  frequently  made  the  foundation  of  many  an 
argument  against  the  soul's  immortal  existence. 

"  It  is  when  the  spirit  entirely  leaves  the  body  —  only 
retaining  proprietorship  over  it  through  the  medium  of 
the  unsevered  umbilical  thread,  or  electric  wire,  as  it 
might  be  called  -  that  the  soul  is  enabled  to  abandon 
its  earthly  tenement  and  interests,  for  many  hours  or  days, 
and  afterward  to  return  to  the  earth,  ladened  with  bright 
and  happy  memories  ! 

"  As  soon  as  the  spirit  is  wholly  disengaged  from  the 
tenacious  physical  body,  it  begins  to  breathe  the  most 
interior,  or  spiritual  portions  of  the  surrounding  terres- 
trial atmosphere,  and  is  perfectly  identical  in  every  pos- 
sible particular  —  improved  and  beautified  —  with  those 
proportions  which  characterized  its  earthly  organization. 
That  is  to  say,  it  possesses  a  heart,  a  stomach,  a  liver, 
lungs,  &c.,  &c.,  just  as  the  natural  body  did,  previous  to 
its  death.  This,  my  dear  children,  should  be  to  you  a 
wondrous  and  consoling  truth  !  " 

"  It  is,  my  dear  father,  I  assure  you,"  returned  the  son ; 
"  I  have  never  heard  anything  more  pleasing  from  mortal 
lips." 

"  I  shall  always  be  near  you.  Farewell.  Be  true  to 
Agnes,  and  she  will  be  a  great  joy  to  you." 

Mr.  Andrews  never  spoke  again  ;  but  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  struggle  for  breath,  left  the  body,  and  joining 
Throckmorton,  passed  on  to  his  spirit  home. 

Agnes  and  William  instinctively  turned  to  each  other 
and  embraced,  with  mingled  affection  and  sorrow ;  both 
felt  they  had  met  with  an  irreparable  loss,  and  could  not 
control  their  feelings. 

Mr.  Andrews  was  one  of  the  best  natured  and  most 
gentlemanly  of  men,  and  although  '«  only  an  artist,"  was 
a  prince  in  all  that  pertains  to  manhood. 

His  death  was  sincerely  and  deeply  mourned,  not  only 


THE    TKIT7MPH    OF    GENIUS.  157 

by  his  family,  but  by  all  who  in  any  manner  had  experi- 
enced the  warmth  of  his  sympathies,  and  the  just  senti- 
ments he  entertained  towards  all  men.  As  his  son  gazed 
upon  his  calm  features,  forever  cast  in  the  shade  of  physi- 
cal death,  he  drew  a  deep  sigh,  and  after  a  moment  of 
silence,  placing  his  arm  about  the  waist  of  Agnes,  said, 
in  most  tender  tones  : 

"  Agnes,  you  see  before  you  the  lifeless  body  of  one, 
who  loved  me  tenderly ;  who  taught  me  truth  as  he  had 
reaped  it  from  the  Bible,  constructed  according  to  his  own 
apprehensions  of  the  character  of  God,  assisted  by  the 
precious  works  of  Swedenborg.  Now  that  his  lips  are 
sealed  in  death,  I  feel  more  than  I  can  express,  of  vener- 
ation for  the  beauty  of  his  life.  Agnes,  it  was  so  pure, 
that  e'en  the  running  brook,  wherein  the  pebbles  at  its 
bed  are  seen,  as  though  no  water  covered  them,  might 
wish  to  be  as  free  from  stain.  I  here  often  asked  myself 
how  could  this  be ;  and  once  I  said  to  him,  '  Dear  father, 
I  envy  you'  And  why  my  son  ?  '  said  he.  '  Ah,  sir,'  I 
replied.  '  Because  I  see  in  you,  a  resignation  to  the  will 
of  God  —  to  the  natural  laws,  I  may  not  hope  to  ever 
make  my  own.' 

"  He,  thereupon,  turned  to  me,  and  taking  me  warmly  by 
the  hand,  remarked :  *  My  dear  son,  I  have  come  to  the 
possession  of  this  temper  after  many  years  of  struggle  — 
fearful  struggle  with  my  will,  to  which  was  subjected  my 
understanding  ;  and  this  struggle  began  long  ere  you  was 
born,  and  ended  not  until  you  had  grown  far  into  boy- 
hood. I  ever  thought  of  God,  and  wished  to  love  him, 
and  know  his  laws,  but  could  not,  no  Willie,  I  could  not 
—  until,  ah,  bless  Him  for  that  hour,  I  studied  faithfully  the 
writings  of  Swedenborg.  Here,  oh,  here  I  found  my  peace. 
I  found  all  that  you  so  much  envy.  When  you  go  to 
him,  your  soul  will  be  as  mine,  —  resigned  to  God  and  to 
his  just  and  beautiful  laws.'  "  Now,  that  he  has  gone,  and 
has  died  in  the  full  belief  of  all  that  he  has  spoken  of 
death,  I  am  awake  ^o  the  truth ;  and,  henceforth,  I  will 
enter  into  those  studies,  which  have  made  him  so  happy." 
As  he  concluded,  a  tear  rolled  from  his  eye  — and  turning 
he  met  the  gaze  of  his  beautiful  Agnes.  Her  countenance 
beamed  with  the  intellectuality  of  her  brain.  She  pressed 


158  THE    PENNIMAXS  ;     OK, 

the  young  man  to  her  bosom,  and  placing  her  head  some- 
what downward,  and  gazing  steadfastly  at  him,  said  mild- 
ly, "  My  love,  to-day  you  have  found  God  !  and  that  tear 
which  I  note  upon  your  cheek,  should  be  one  of  joy,  not 
of  sadness.  Who  could  witness  such  a  death  as  this,  and 
doubt  of  Heaven.  Ah,  my  best  and  noblest  friend  —  well 
mayst  thou  be  proud  of  such  a  father.  Even  as  he,  I 
found  no  peace,  until  I  came  to  that  fountain  of  lucid 
teaching,  which  gleams  resplendent  in  every  page  of 
Swedenborg.  How  sublime  is  his  interpretations  of  God's 
love,  and  who,  oh  who,  can  realize  the  grandeur  of  his 
mission,  without  tears,  ay,  copious,  gushing  tears,  of 
thankfulness  for  this  refutation  of  error  —  error,  that  for 
ages  had  filled  the  world  with  darkness,  savageness  and 
woe." 

"  Yes,  my  sweet  one,  clearly  have  I  seen  this  error,  and 
.profoundly  have  I  felt  its  degradation,  its  bitterness,  and 
hates,"  rejoined  Andrews,  "  and  I  have  wondered  why  all 
this  should  be ;  why  there  was  not  a  spiritual  Christianity, 
that  should  unite  all  hearts,  and  in  the  eternal  principle 
of  love,  make  mankind  as  one." 

"In  Swedenborg  this  Christianity  is  given,"  rejoined 
Agnes ;  "  and  any  one  who  will  earnestly  strive  to  know 
his  doctrines  will  be  made  one  with  God,  and  be  perfectly 
happy.  He  makes  Christ  such  a  reality  to  man,  and 
proves  him  to  be  very  God,  of  very  God,  indeed  so  conclu- 
sively from  the  Scriptures,  that  he  compels  our  love  to 
Him,  and  puts  us  in  perfect  concord  with  all  his  works." 

Young  Andrews  affectionately  kissed  Agnes  and  thanked 
her  for  her  sentiments  ;  they  were,  he  said,  in  unison  with 
his  own ;  then  stooping  down  he  kissed  his  father's  blood- 
less lips,  saying,  "  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful 
servant,  enter  thou  into  the  joys  of  thy  Lord."  Mrs. 
Andrews,  now  entered  the  room,  and  beholding  the  corpse 
of  her  husband,  she  raised  her  hands  in  prayer,  and  in  a 
low  tone  said  :  "  Lord,  not  mine,  but  thy  will  be  done." 

Agnes  at  once  went  to  her,  and  related  the  manner  of 
the  old  gentleman's  death,  so  full  of  hope  and  peace. 
Mrs.  Andrews  expressed  herself  as  entirely  resigned,  and 
hoped  in  the  providence  of  God,  she  might  soon  follow 
one  with  whom  she  had  lived  for  so  many  years,  in  un- 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  159 

interrupted  happiness.  In  due  time  Mr.  Andrews  was 
buried,  after  the  forms  of  the  "  new  church,"  and  laid  to 
rest  among  his  kindred.  On  the  marble  slab  which  bore 
his  name  and  age  and  date  of  death,  his  son  had  caused 
to  be  placed  the  following  sentiment : 

"None  knew  thee  but  to  love  thee, 
None  named  thee  but  to  praise." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  Oh,  for  sweet  nature's  face  !  " 

MRS.  Andrews  had  but  a  small  property,  and  for  econ- 
omy's sake  she  determined  to  move  into  the  country,  now, 
that  she  was  deprived  of  Mr.  Andrew's  support,  espe- 
cially, too,  as  she  was  passionately  fond  of  nature,  and 
loved  its  study  ;  besides,  her  son  needed  all  she  could 
save  for  him.  She  rented  a  small  house  in  Lexington,  and 
with  no  more  delay  than  was  absolutely  necessary  she  took 
possession,  together  with  her  son  and  Agnes,  whom  she 
had  become  quite  attached  to,  and  time  and  time  again 
had  said  how  much  "  she  regretted  ever  having  entertained 
the  least  doubt  of  her  honor  and  purposes."  The  cottage 
which  they  occupied  was  surrounded  by  very  pretty 
grounds,  and  near  and  about  the  premises  were  fine 
trees,  and  a  well  ordered  garden.  Agnes  was  familiar 
with  Bacon's  instructions  on  gardening,  and  as  she  hon- 
ored to  a  degree  of  uncommon  respect  the  great  philoso- 
pher, who  revolutionized  the  ancient  systems  of  Aristotle, 
and  gave  to  science  that  objectivity,  from  which  has 
sprung  in  a  very  great  measure  our  present  advanced  civ- 
ilization, she  determined  to  persuade  Mrs.  Andrews  to  let 
her  Baconize  the  entire  estate,  which  the  good  lady  was 
only  too  ready  to  do,  since  she  thought  "  her  Agnes  one 
of  the  most  fascinating  women  in  the  world,"  and  often 
would  say  to  her  son  —  "  Willie,  if  you  had  not  have 
clung  to  Agnes,  I  would  have  boxed  your  ears,  and  that 
too,  soundly,  had  I  ever  come  to  a  knowledge  of  her,  as 
I  now  have."  "  Yes,  I  knew  that  very  well,"  the  son 
would  reply,  and  therefore  I  determined  to  please  you. 
I  was  assured  that  when  Agnes  and  you  came  to  be  well 
acquainted,  there  would  be  no  two  persons  in  life  more 
inseparable."  And  so  in  truth,  it  was.  Mrs.  Andrews 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GEIflUS.  161 

could  not  bear  to  have  Agnes  spend  even  one  day  away 
from  her,  but  wherever  Agnes  went,  she,  too,  must  fol- 
low :  happily  the  young  woman  was  always  pleased  to 
humor  the  mother,  for  she  dearly  loved  the  son,  and  for 
his  sake,  if  not  from  any  other  consideration,  she  de- 
lighted to  gratify  in  all  matters  the  one  who  had  borne  in 
her  body,  a  soul  so  noble  as  his,  with  whom  her  fate  was 
to  be  forever  cast.  Passionately  fond  of  flowers,  she  cul- 
tivated them  with  great  care.  Her  taste  and  skill  in  the 
art  of  gardening  was  proverbial ;  the  neighbors  all  about 
were  ever  more  pleased  to  have  a  bouquet  from  Agnes' 
garden  than  from  any  other ;  and  many  were  the  persons 
residing  in  the  city  who  were  furnished  with  these  cheer- 
ful offsprings  of  nature,  from  her  teeming  flower  beds, 
and  by  her  own  small  soft  hand. 

While  her  lover  was  all  absorbed  in  the  study  of  Law, 
she  was  (besides  interesting  herself  in  his  pursuits  and 
materially  assisting  him  thereby)  equally  engaged  with 
the  mysteries  of  gardening  and  agriculture.  Both  of  them 
were  poetical,  and  were  ardent  worshippers  at  the  shrine  of 
art ;  but  she  did  all  she  could  to  restrain  our  hero  in  this 
attachment ;  for,  she  would  say,  "  if,  my  dear  friend,  your 
ambition  is  to  achieve  power,  your  entire  energies  should 
be  bent  on  politics  and  Jurisprudence  —  you  should  let 
art  alone,  as  a  study,  or  a  practice ;  for  you  know,  how 
impossible  it  is  for  a  man  of  genius  to  turn  his  attention 
to  art,  and  not  weaken  his  powers  for  active  employment. 
And  then,  too,  what  are  artists  ?  '  God's  own,  you  will 
say.'  "  Yes,  I  admit  it,  but  those  who  would  escape  the 
impositions  of  mere  sensual  life,  will  never  make  art  a 
profession ;  nor  will  they  incur  the  risk  of  this,  by  a 
too  close  and  exclusive  study  of  it."  Thus  would  Agnes 
spur  her  lover  on  in  the  path  to  fame  which  he  had  chosen. 

As  he  was  seated  one  afternoon  in  the  month  of  leafy 
June,  with  Agnes  by  his  side,  in  a  room  which  looked 
towards  the  west,  where  slowly  declined  the  genial  sun, 
soon  to  disappear  behind  the  distant  hills,  Agnes,  placing 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  kissed  him  tenderly,  saying : 

"  Shut  up  your  book,  love,  you  have  studied  enough 
to-day.  Here  is  Juvenal,  the  prince  of  Satirists  and 
good-fellows;  read  now  a  little  of  him." 


162  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OB, 

"  Pardon  me,  my  sweet  one,"  replied  Andrews  ;  "  let 
us  talk  a  while." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  returned  Miss  Farriday ;  "  your  will  is 
mine.  You  know  we  sometimes  agree  ; "  and  as  she  said 
this,  she  looked  affectionately  at  the  young  man  and 
smiled  ;  then  continued,  "  Would  you  could  afford  to  be 
as  bold  as  Juvenal" 

"  Ah,  love,  I  would  I  could ! "  exclaimed  Andrews. 
"  But  I  must  be  politic  ;  I  must  make  friends.  I  have 
little  or  nothing  to  depend  on  but  the  profession  I  am 
preparing  to  enter,  with  you  aud  mother  to  support.  I 
must  make  friends  ;  but  when  I  have  made  my  mark, 
and  am  independent  in  a  measure  of  policy,  I  will  hurl 
at- meanness  and  hypocrisy  a  thunderbolt  that  shall  dash 
them  to  pieces  ! "  He  paused  a  moment,  then  continued, 
"  That  is  really  a  beautiful  letter  you  have  received  from 
Irene  Caruthers  to-day,  who,  through  your  influence,  was 
induced  to  abandon  a  life  of  crime  for  one  of  purity ;  do 
read  it  to  me  again." 

"  Certainly,"  rejoined  Agnes,  as  she  laid  down  her  work, 
and  thrusting  her  hand  into  the  reticule,  pulled  forth  the 
letter,  which  read  as  follows  :  — 

*«  Burlington,  June  — ,  18 — . 

MY  DEAR,  DEAR  FRIEND  :  —  It  is  some  time  since  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  a  friendly  word  from  you ;  but  I  am  sure 
you  have  not  forgotten  me,  and  this  will  be  proof  positive 
that  I  have  not  forgotten  you.  Oh,  how  could  I  forget 
so  pure  and  sweet  a  being.  Ah,  my  dear  friend,  how 
little  the  world  knows  of  the  beauty  of  your  character ; 
but  /  know  of  it,  and  so  does  God !  who  has  a  reward 
laid  up  for  you  in  Heaven.  I  am  a  successful  teacher 
now,  and  all  my  scholars  love  me  very  much ;  and  what 
you  will  be  surprised  to  hear,  I  am  going  to  be  married  to 
a  talented  lawyer,  with  whom  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  most 
happy  ;  and  for  this  happiness  I  am  indebted  to  you, 
dearest  and  best  of  friends.  May  God  bless  and  prosper 
you.  I  am  glad  that  your  plague,  Mr.  Rolston,  is  dead. 
Mr.  Andrews  and  yourself  may  now  live  in  peace.  I  have 
been  successful  in  reforming  several  girls,  who  had  aban- 
doned themselves,  even  as  I  abandoned  myself,  to  crime, 


THE    TKIUilPH    OF    GENIUS.  163 

for  the  means  of  a  support ;  they  are  now  happy  in  well- 
doing, and  love  me  for  my  kindness  to  them,  even  as  I 
love  you,  dearest  Agnes,  for  your  goodness  to  me.  When 
I  think  how  much  wretchedness  there  is  in  Boston,  in 
consequence  of  prostitution ;  of  the  generous-hearted  and 
well-informed  women  who  are  hurried  into  it,  from  neces- 
sity, as  they  deem,  my  heart  aches  and  my  blood  freezes, 
that  it  should  be  so ;  and  I  am  almost  resolved  to  devote 
myself  to  their  service.  This  I  would  do  willingly,  if 
there  was  suitable  homes  for  them  in,  or  near  Boston,  to 
to  which  I  could  influence  them  to  go,  and  where  they 
could  be  rendered  comfortable,  and  be  provided  with  the 
means  of  honest  support.  I  am  sure  such  institutions 
would  be  most  effectual  in  redeeming  many  a  poor,  for- 
saken, and  suffering  soul  from  a  life  of  unspeakable  irysery. 
It  is  a  very  easy  matter  to  say  to  the  courtezan,  come  out 
of  your  evil  habits ;  but  they  who  indeed  desire  their 
reformation,  will  place  the  means  fully  in  their  power. 
Give  them  homes !  homes !  where  they  will  find  a  com- 
fortable bed,  wholesome  food,  and  friendly  counsel.  Cer- 
tainly this  is  not  expecting  too  much  of  our  humanity, 
when  it  is  borne  in  mind  how  much  our  blessed  Saviour 
sacrificed  of  personal  dignity,  in  dying  upon  the  cross  to 
symbolize  his  love  for  mankind.  When,  ph  when,  shall 
we  come  to  believe  that  in  doing  good,  we  serve  directly 
our  Lord.  I  am  sure,  if  persons  who  claim  to  be  Chris- 
tians, were  in  reality  such,  they  would  do  all  in  their 
power  to  aid  the  women  who  are  leading  a  life  of  prosti- 
tution,, to  purge  themselves  of  their  sins,  and  return  to  a 
godly  existence.  How  many,  ah,  how  many,  long  for 
some  friendly  hand  to  grasp,  that  by  it  they  may  be  drawn 
out  of  the  pollution,  into  which  a  hard  struggle  with  the 
world  has  forced  them.  I  know,  my  dear,  dear  Agnes, 
you  will  do  all  in  your  power  for  this  unfortunate  class 
of  beings,  and  so  will  dear  Mr.  Andrews.  I  know  he 
has  a  noble  soul,  and  needs  but  the  opportunity  to  do,  to 
accomplish  much,  in  behalf  of  the  poor  and  fallen.  I,  oh 
I,  who  have  been  raised  up  from  degradation  by  your 
sweet  mind,  and  generous  heart,  feel,  and  oh,  how  deeply ! 
the  greatness  of  the  blessing  conferred ;  and  this  makes 
me  only  the  more  desirous  that  others,  who  would  be 


164  THE    PENNIMANS;    OE, 

glad  to  live  honestly,  may  have  the  opportunity  offered 
them.  Think,  oh  think,  how  many  of  God's  children  are 
waiting  for  human  aid  to  reform,  and  live  as  Christians  in 
a  Christian  land.  I  have  often  thought  with  what  heart- 
felt understanding  the  poor  harlot,  weary  of  her  ways, 
might  repeat  that  touching  stanza  of  Goldsmith's,  which 
runs  as  follows : 

'  And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep  — 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 
But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep.' 

Let  us,  dear  Agnes,  do  all  within  our  power  to  aid  and 
cheer  those  unfortunate  women,  who  sincerely  desire  to 
be  at  peace  with  their  God. 

•         «  Though  life  be  dark  with  grief  and  crime, 

Though  virtue  wait  and  suffer  long, 
Yet  e'er  the  end,  the  lapse  of  time, 

Confirms  the  right,  confounds  the  wrong. 

Truth  must  prevail.    Meanwhile,  endure, 
Of  worldly  peace  let  worldlings  boast ; 

Amid  the  storms  of  life,  be  sure, 
The  loftiest  spirits  suffer  most.' 

I  cannot  express  to  you  the  joy  I  experience,  in  having 
found  a  kindred  soul  for  a  husband.  I  have  acquainted 
him  with  my  past  life,  and  your  kindness  towards  me  in 
particular ;  and  notwithstanding  what  I  have  been,  he 
says,  I  am  dear  to  his  heart,  and  he  could  not  be  happy 
without  me.  He  says,  too,  he  shall  not  be  contented 
until  he  has  seen  you,  and,  to  use  his  own  words,  '  kissed 
and  thanked  you  heartily,  for  saving  from  utter  depravity 
the  only  woman  he  ever  desired  to  love.'  Oh,  my  dear 
Agnes,  you  do  not  know  how  much  Mr.  Frazar  prizes 
you.  I  am  to  be  married  soon,  when  we  shall  go  to  Bqs- 
ton,  and  perhaps  as  far  as  Philadelphia.  How  glad  I 
shall  be  once  again  to  press  your  hand,  and  hear  your 
sweet,  kind  voice.  Adieu. 

Yours  affectionately, 

IKENE  CAEUTHEES." 

"A  worthy  woman,"  said  Andrews,  as  Agnes  concluded 
the  letter. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  165 

"  Was  there  ever  a  more  grateful  creature  than  Irene," 
returned  Agnes  ;  "  it  is  an  unspeakable  pleasure,  I  do 
assure  you,  this  letter.  Indeed  they  all  love  me  very 
much,  whom  1  befriended,  and  persuaded  from  a  vicious 
life.  I  have  experienced  no  ingratitude  from  them,  what- 
ever." 

"  You  will  be  encouraged  then  to  do  further  for  this 
class  of  wretched  women?"  rejoined  the  lover. 

"  Indeed,  I  shall,"  replied  Agnes  ;  "  for  I  know  of  no 
greater  happiness  than  being  instrumental,  under  God, 
of  redeeming  the  fallen ;  and  woman,  too !  whose  lot  is 
so  hard. 

'Loving  again,  to  be  again  undone.' 

This,  my  dear  friend,  is  the  fate  of  more  women,  than 
those  who  pay  little  or  no  attention  to  the  well-being  of 
society  have  the  least  idea  of.  The  ranks  of  prostitution 
are  filled  with  many  a  Julia,  who  loved  not  wisely,  but 
too  well." 

"  1  doubt  it  not,"  returned  Andrews,  earnestly.  "  If 
God  spares  my  life,  and  I  obtain  among  men  any  influ- 
ence, it  shall  be  used  in  defence  of  these  poor  forsaken 
creatures,  who  meet  with  so  little  sympathy  from  the 
world  in  general.  I  will  not  rest  satisfied  until  I  have 
secured  for  them  a  home,  based  upon  true  and  generous 
principles,  where  they  may  find  friendly  counsel,  and  the 
means  of  being  virtuous  and  comparatively  happy.  If  I 
can  effect  this  much  good  for  them,  I  shall  feel  that  my 
life  has  not  been  altogether  an  idle  one." 

"  I  pray  heartily  for  your  success,"  rejoined  Agnes. 

At  this  moment  the  lovers  were  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  Mrs.  McAlpin,  who  had  just  returned  from 
Europe  in  company  with  her  husband,  whose  dissipated 
habits  had  grown  upon  him  to  a  fearful  extent. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  HAVE  you  ever  observed,"  said  Lord  Byron  to  Lady  Blessington,  "  the 
extreme  dread  that  parvenus  have,  of  saying  aught  that  approaches  the 
vulgar.  In  manners,  letters,  conversations,  nay  even  in  literature,  they 
are  always  superfine ;  and  a  man  of  birth  would  use  unconsciously  a  thou- 
sand dubious  phrases  sooner  thau  a  parvenu  would  risk  the  probability  of 
being  suspected  of  one." 

YOUNG  Andrews  for  an  instant  lost  his  self-possession, 
but  recovering  himself  almost  immediately,  he  received 
his  former  playmate,  Nelly  Penniman,  with  the  dignity 
which  became  him  under  the  circumstances.  Nelly  saw 
at  once  he  had  not  forgotten  her  conduct,  which  she  had 
many  times  regretted,  since  her  marriage  to  McAlpin ; 
but  she  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  and  therefore  was  not 
at  all  embarrassed  at  his  distant  manner.  She  was  seated 
near  to  Agnes,  to  Whom  she  had  just  been  introduced, 
and  soon  fell  into  conversation  with  her,  in  the  course  of 
which  she  related  many  pleasant  incidents  of  her  travels, 
and  rather  prepossessed  Miss  Farriday  in  her  favor.  Wil- 
liam listened,  but  said  very  little ;  no  more  than  he  was 
obliged  to,  in  common  courtesy. 

"  I  really  believe,"  said  Nelly,  twisting  herself  in  her. 
chair.  "  I  really  believe  I  have  annoyed  you  both  nearly 
to  death  with  my  chit-chat ;  but  you  know  when  one  has 
been  all  over  Europe,  and  seen  and  heard  so  much,  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  resist  the  temptation  to  talk,  even 
though  it  amounts  to  nothing,  in  a  business  point  of  view, 
as  Mr.  Andrews  might  think,  perhaps." 

*'  Never  mind  me,  my  ladyship,"  returned  Andrews. 
"  You  know  I  was  never  anybody." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Andrews,  you  have  not  forgotten,  I  see,  the 
art  of  saying  smart  things,"  rejoined  Mrs.  McAlpin. 
"  You  should  travel  in  Europe,  if  you  would  be  polished  in 
this  particular." 

"  Indeed,"  returned  William,  "  that  being  the  case, 
I  wish  I  had  some  of  the  wealth  in  the  name  of  some  of 


THE    TUITTMPH    OF    GENIUS.  167 

our  city  nobs.  Faith,  I  believe  for  the  sake  of  a  little 
European  lustre,  I  would  turn  sycophant,  and  toady 
awhile,  if  I  thought  this  would  enable  me  to  carry  my 
point." 

"  Toady ! "  reiterated  the  lady,  evidently  chagrined. 
"  Why,  do  gentlemen  toady  ?  " 

"  Ay  !"  replied  Andrews,  firmly.  "-Were  I  to  count 
up  the  number  of  toadies  in  what  is  termed  '  fashionable 
life,'  to  each  '  live  head,'  there  would  be  at  least  ten 
'  dead  heads.'  " 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  by  dead  head  ?  "  interro- 
gated Mrs.  McAlpin,  with  considerable  dignity. 

"  Why,  '  dead  heads  '  are  persons  who  assume  to  be 
somebodies,  when  in  fact  they  are  nobodies,"  replied  An- 
drews, his  eye  fixed  on  Nelly ;  "  but  pass  in  society  and 
the  world  in  general,  on  others  merit.  Your  husband,  for 
instance,  is  a  '  dead  head,'  " 

"  What,  Mr.  Andrews  !  "  exclaimed  Nelly,  quite  ex- 
cited. "  I  thought  you  a  gentleman,  sir.  I  find  I  am 
mistaken.  You  would  not  dare  say  this  to  Mr.  McAlpin's 
face." 

"  You  scarcely  can  conceive  what  I  dare  do,  Madam," 
rejoined  Andrews.  "  If  I  am  not  a  gentleman,  it  is  be- 
cause I  have  been  foully  wronged.  Perhaps  you  may 
guess  my  meaning." 

"  Guess  !  "  reiterated  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  That  is  a  Yan- 
keeism  I  have  ceased  to  know  anything  about,  sir ;  and 
'tis  a  pity  you  are  not  more  refined.  Mother  always  said 
'  you  were  of  a  vulgar  cast.'  " 

"  And  pray  what  else  did  your  mother  say  ?  "  rejoined 
the  young  man,  petulantly.  "  I  always  believed  her  to 
be  an  oracle,  and  have  ever  been  most  interested  in  her 
sayings." 

"  Well,  sir,  she  told  me  not  to  go  near  you,"  exclaimed 
Nelly.  "  And  I  am  only  sorry  I  did  not  observe  her  ad- 
vice." 

"  Oh,  do  not  get  excited  ;  the  day  is  warm,  you  had 
much  better  keep  cool  as  possible,"  returned  Andrews. 

"  She  told  me  not  to  go  near  you,"  continued  Mrs. 
McAlpin.  "  But  I  was  so  sorry  to  know  you  were  in  a 
distressed  condition,  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  calling  to 


168  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

see  yon,  for  the  purpose  of  doing  the  offices  of  friendship. 
I  am  satisfied,  however,  you  are  all  unworthy  any  such 
attention." 

"  You  have  heen  quick  to  ascertain  so  much,"  rejoined 
the  young  man.  "  Are  you  not  mistaken,  though.  Come 
now,  be  just  ;  do  you  not  owe  me  every  in  thing  chanty  ? 
You  have  not  treated  me  well.  I  came  out  to  see  you  in 
kindness.  You  have  received  me  spitefully." 

Nelly  paused  for  a  moment,  then  resumed  :  "  You  do 
not  appear  to  have  forgiven  a  girlish  folly." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have.  I  forgive  all  those  who  play  the 
fool,  even  though  I  am  thereby  a  heavy  loser,"  rejoined 
Andrews.  "  Certainly,  I  forgive  you,  Mrs.  McAlpin  ;  but 
I  must  confess  you  have  brought  with  you  from  Europe, 
a  certain  enlargement  of  self-esteem,  which  I  do  not  at  all 
relish.  For  we  are  plain  people  in  this  cottage.  My 
mother,  Miss  Farriday,  and  myself,  like  to  be  impressed 
by  the  manner  of  all  who  visit  us,  with  the  idea  that  we 
are  at  least  their  equals.  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  McAlpin,  we 
do  not  owe  a  dollar  in  the  world  ;  we  are  not  so  poor  as 
you  think  us.  We  can  take  care  of  ourselves  ;  and,  though 
it  was  very  kind  in  you  to  call  upon  us  in  the  spirit  of 
charity,  with  alms  ready  to  bestow,  yet,  be  assured  we 
should  not,  under  any  circumstances,  place  ourselves 
under  obligations  to  any  one  whom  we  could  not  love, 
and  feel  a  pleasure  in  acknowledging  their  friendship." 

"  Ah,  well,  this  is  just  what  one  gets  for  being  offici- 
ously kind,"  rejoined  Nelly.  "As  to  my  manners,  sir, 
they  will  continue  the  same,  and  I  shall  he  very  careful  in 
future,  not  to  put  myself  in  the  way  of  people  whom  they 
offend,  e'en  though  for  charity's  sake." 

"  "Tis  best,  madam,  that  you  should  not,"  said  Agnes, 
who  had  patiently  listened  to  what  was  passing.  "  Much 
better,  as  the  circle  which  you  adorn  hath  but  little  in 
common  with  the  great  interests  of  humanity,  and  when- 
ever it  attempts  to  be  generous,  only  appears  ridiculous. 
Now  I  say  this  to  you  in  all  friendship,  because  humble 
as  I  am,  I  may  yet  give  even  to  as  elegant  a  lady  as  your- 
self some  useful  hints." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  rejoined  Mrs.  McAlpin,  apparently 
not  perceiving  the  force  of  Agnes's  words.  "  Yet  you  have 


THE    THIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  169 

no  idea  how  much  one  picks  up  of  sensible  things  in  a 
tour  through  Europe.     I  wish  you  could  afford  to  go." 

"  It  must  be  expensive,  then,  I  should  judge,"  returned 
Agnes,  laughing  the  while  in  her  sleeve. 

"  Oh,  very,"  replied  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  You  have  no 
idea  of  the  expense.  Why,  it  has  cost  us  no  less  than 
between  six  and  seven  thousand  dollars  just  for  the  time 
we  were  absent." 

"  That  sum  would  have  clothed  and  fed  a  great  many 
poor,"  rejoined  Agnes. 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  returned  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  But 
if  one  is  ever  to  be  thinking  of  the  poor,  whom  it  seems 
to  me  are  '  unnecessarily  numerous,'  there  would  be  little 
real  enjoyment  for  those  who  have  the  industry  to  make 
money.  It  would  be  give,  give,  give  —  the  whole  time, 
indeed,  there  would  be  '  no  end  of  giving.'  But  I  have 
no  more  time  to  spend  with  you.  I  came  here  for  a  good 
object,  and  instead  of  being  treated  with  the  deference 
my  position  deserves,  I  have  been  used  most  shamefully. 
But  Mr.  McAlpin  shall  learn  of  it,  be  assured  of  that, 
Mr.  Andrews." 

As  she  concluded,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  in  the 
most  dignified  manner  walked  out  of  the  house.  At 
the  door  was  a  splendid  carriage,  in  which  a  lady  was 
seated,  dressed  in  black.  Nelly  entered  the  carriage,  and 
ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  away. 

She  had  no  sooner  left  the  house,  than  Andrews  burst 
into  a  hearty  laugh,  in  which  Agnes  joined. 

"  What  an  absurd  specimen  of  a  travelled  lady,"  re- 
marked he.  "  Upon  my  word,  I  never  saw  so  much 
flummery  packed  in  and  on  a  person  in  all  my  life.  Who 
do  you  suppose  the  lady  to  be,  who  remained  in  the  car- 
riage ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  imagine  ;  some  late  arrival,  no 
doubt ;  "  returned  Agues. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  rejoined  Mr.  Andrews.  "  That  was 
Miss  Touchmenot,  who  is  soon  to  marry  a  man-monkey 
by  the  name  of  Sampson,  which  she  insists  is  such  a  vul- 
gar name,  that  it  shall  be  Frenchified,  and  pronounced 
Sampsone." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  exclaimed  Agnes,  as  she  laughed  most 
heartily.     "  What  a  perfect  fool." 
8 


170  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

"  Of  course,  love ;  but  then  she  came  honestly  by  her 
nonsense,"  rejoined  Andrews.  "  Her  mother  is  one  of 
the  most  absurd  of  women,  and  as  to  the  father,  he  cannot 
write  the  English  language,  nor  any  other  language  with 
propriety." 

"  And  yet  they  set  themselves  up  for  somebodies,"  re- 
turned Agnes.  "  Style  themselves  the  elite,  do  they 
not?" 

"  Well,  they  are  the  elite  of  nonsense,"  rejoined  the 
lover.  "  This  is  generally  conceded.  You  do  not  know 
how  much  pleasure  it  would  give  me,  when  I  commence 
the  practice  of  law,  to  bring  an  action  against  these  Touch- 
menots,  Pennimans,  or  any  of  their  set.  I  would  give 
the  books  such  a  sifting  as  they  never  had  before  to 
strengthen  my  action,  be  sure  of  that." 

"  So,  your  old  flame  called  to  offer  you  alms,"  returned 
Agnes,  playfully. 

"  Yes,  and  a  capital  joke  it  is,"  rejoined  the  lover.  "  I 
hardly  think  she  will  come  on  such  a  mission  again." 

"  No,  never ;  you  may  rely  upon  it,"  returned  Agnes. 
"  You  have  schooled  her  well." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  poor  thing,"  replied  William,  throwing 
his  head  back  on  his  chair.  "  How  much  there  is  still  for 
her  to  learn." 

"  What  think  you,  would  become  of  her,  if  old  Penniman 
and  the  McAlpins  should  happen  to  fail  some  day,  as  the 
most  prudent  often  do?  "  interrogated  Agnes  thoughtfully. 

"  Become  of  her  ?  "  responded  William.  "  Why,  she 
might  find  herself  in  the  situation  that  Irene  Caruthers 
was  once  in  ;  and  instead  of  offering  charity,  she  might 
be  glad  of  a  bit  from  us.  These  things  have  been,  my 
dear  ;  ay,  have  been  —  and  may  be  again.  I  don't  think 
she  would  incline  to  do  much  honest  work.  It  would  be 
too  hard  for  the  pay,  even  if  she  knew  how." 

"  No  doubt  she  would  scheme  to  live  as  easy  as  possible, 
and  they  who  do  this  slide  readily  into  prostitution,"  re- 
joined Agnes.  "  I  have  seen  it  in  so  many  instances,  that 
it  is  a  rule  almost  without  an  exception." 

"  I  should  be  sorry,  very  sorry  to  see  her  thus,"  re- 
turned Andrews.  "  Though  it  would  please  me  well  to 
have  her  lose  a  little  of  that  absurd  pride  which  makes 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  171 

her  so  offensive.  Agnes,  I  have  still  to  see  that  heartless 
woman  humbled  before  me,  in  a  manner  as  will  surpass 
all  fiction.  She  does  not  see  her  fate ;  but  in  my  mis- 
sion's glory,  I  see  it  all.  Yet,  oh  yet,  will  that  deluded 
woman  supplicate  my  friendship.  Then  will  my  hours 
of  triumph  come.  But  I  do  not,  shall  not  rejoice,  only 
as  truth  and  justice  shall  be  vindicated  !  " 

"  These  are  noble  sentiments,"  responded  Agnes. 
"  They  are  my  own.  Ah,  dear,  when  your  talents 
shall  have  been  acknowledged  and  rewarded,  then  shall 
I  be  happy  indeed." 

At  this  moment  the  sun  sank  below  the  distant  hills, 
tinging  the  surrounding  clouds  with  deepest  crimson.  Ag- 
nes, taking  the  hand  of  the  young  man  in  her  own,  pressed 
it  passionately  to  her  bosom. 

"  If  your  sun,  my  noble  hearted,  did  not  rise  as  reful- 
gent as  that  just  declined,  I  have  faith  in  your  hopes, 
and  know  that  you  will  ere  long  entwine  your  name  with 
the  triumphs  of  genius  !  I  feel  it  here,  here ;  "  and  as 
she  said  this,  she  placed  her  hand  alternately  on  her  breast 
and  head.  "  My  bosom  and  brain,  both  assure  me  —  they 
have  never,  never  deceived" 

Andrews,  with  a  tear  glistening  in  his  eye,  drew  Miss 
Farriday  closely  to  his  side,  and  kissed  her  warm  im- 
passioned lips,  beautifully  expressive  of  firmness  and  a 
chaste,  chivalrous  pride.  At  this  moment  a  sweet  little 
bird,  which  had  been  skipping  from  limb  to  limb,  of  a 
tree  which  shaded  the  window,  flew  into  the  room  and 
alighted  upon  the  shoulder  of  Agnes.  She  gently  took 
it  in  her  hand,  and  holding  it  near  her  lover's  view,  said  : 

"  This  little  bird,  my  dear  friend,  has  learned  to  love 
me,  and  has  cast  away  all  fear.  I  can  remember  when  it 
would  not  come  within  several  yards  of  the  window,  to 
eat  the  crumbs  I  furnished  it ;  now.  it  takes  them  from 
my  hand.  Would  you  know  of  what  this  is  typical  ?  " 

"  Yes,   my  sweet  one,"  replied  Andrews. 

"  Of  confidence  !  "  responded  Agnes.  "  Of  that  holy 
trust  and  love  which  I  have  in  you  !  " 

"  Heaven  is  my  witness,  that  I  prize  it  as  an  influence 
second  only  to  my  religion,"  replied  Andrews.  "  And 
my  ambition  shall  ever  be  to  prove  by  the  results  of  my 


172  THE    PENNIMANS. 

labors,  the  marked  power  which  a  true  woman's  love  and 
friendship  has  to  sustain  the  hopes  of  man,  and  to  crown 
his  efforts  with  success !  " 

And  here  we  will,  for  the  present  leave  them ;  happy 
in  a  sympathy  and  perfect  understanding  of  each  other's 
character  and  aspirations,  which  only  a  fervent  and  unsel- 
fish devotion  can  insure. 


CHAPTER  XVI I. 

"  The  tinsel  glitter,  and  the  specious  mien 
Delude  the  most  ;  few  pry  behind  the  scene." 

THE  arrival  from  Europe  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James 
McAlpin,  was  quite  an  event  among  the  "  more  ex- 
clusive sets."  Everybody  of  this  class  was  bent  on 
calling  to  see  "  the  travelled  pair,"  who  had  taken 
expensive  apartments  at  the  Tremont  House.  They  had 
been  to  Rome  and  kissed  the  Pope's  toe, — to  the  holy 
land  and  stood  upon  the  Mount  of  Olives,  that  overlooks 
Jerusalem.  They  had  seen  most  everything  of  interest 
in  Europe,  and  now  were  at  home,  to  astonish  their 
friends  with  the  extent  of  their  information.  Nelly  was 
quite  animated  in  her  discourses,  concerning  the  attention 
she  had  received  from  the  most  illustrious  persons,  in  all 
the  countries  she  had  visited  ;  and  her  pride  and  self-im- 
portance was  evidently  a  good  deal  strengthened  by  such 
high  consideration.  Her  manners  were  regally  dignified, 
and  her  conversation  somewhat  affected.  She  was  in 
mourning  for  her  child  —  a  daughter,  born  at  Athens, 
and  buried  at  Smyrna. 

The  weather  was  excessively  warm,  it  being  August, 
when  all  persons  who  can  conveniently  leave  the  city  for 
the  sea  shore,  or  inland,  avail  themselves  of  the  privilege. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  McAlpin  were  making  ready  for  a  famous 
watering  place,  where,  for  many  years,  it  has  been  the 
habit  of  city  folks,  who  can  afford  the  luxury,  to  pass  the 
summer  season.  And  many  also  from  the  South  have 
located  here  for  a  few  weeks,  at  the  hotel,  which  is  sit- 
uated at  the  extreme  point  of  a  peninsular,  and  close  to 
the  storm-beaten  rocks,  that  look  towards  the  broad  and 
heaving  ocean  — 


174  THE    PENNIMANS  J    OK, 

"  Here  are  chaste  wives,  pure  lives;  here  people  pay 
But  what  they  please ;  and  if  that  things  be  dear, 
'Tis  only  that  they  love  to  throw  away 
Their  cash,  to  show  how  much  they  have  a  year." 

This  was  just  the  place  for  Mrs.  McAlpin,  and  her 
circle ;  who  looked  upon  the  villagers  with  contempt. 
Indeed,  unless  persons  could  afford  to  be  gay  and  ex- 
pensive,  neither  she,  nor  her  mother,  could  "  tolerate 
them;"  they  were  "decidedly  vulgar."  At  the  hotel, 
Mrs.  McAlpin  attracted  a  great  deal  of  attention,  and 
made,  as  the  phrase  is,  "a  great  dash."  She  was  the 
observed  of  all  observers  ;  and  being  a  beautiful  and  well 
formed  woman,  drew  around  her  many  beaux.  Miss 
Julia  Touchmenot  was  her  confidential  friend ;  and  two 
more  ridiculous  women  never  were  yoked  together  in 
amity.  Julia  would  laugh  at  Nelly's  nonsense,  and  Nelly 
would  laugh  and  take  part  in  Miss  Touchmenot's  folly. 
The  boarders  generally  were  disgusted  with  them ;  but 
were  all  smiles  and  pleasantry  when  in  intercourse.  There 
were  a  number  of  what  are  termed  "  handsome  men"  at  the 
hotel ;  there  for  the  purpose  of  getting  up  their  health, 
(although  looking  far  from  sickly,)  and  securing  rich  wives. 
These  men  were  particularly  attracted  by  Nelly,  and  with 
rather  more  than  a  respectful  zeal,  they  paid  court  to  her. 
She,  however,  encouraged  their  attentions,  notwithstand- 
ing the  earnest  remonstrance  of  Mr.  McAlpin,  who, 
though  "  generally  tight "  pretty  much  all  the  time,  was 
at  moments  sober  enough  to  perceive  the  improprieties 
of  his  wife,  and  to  check  them.  Julia  was  so  pursued  by 
Mr.  Sampsone,  to  whom  she  was  engaged,  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  partake  of  that  exciting  species  of 
enjoyment,  into  which  Mrs.  McAlpin  entered  so  heartily. 
Sampsone  was  a  perfect  petit-maitre,  but  by  no  means  a 
fool.  He  knew  full  well  if  he  permitted  Julia  free  in- 
tercourse with  the  agreeable  gentlemen  boarders  at  the 
hotel,  that  he  might  find  himself  supplanted  in  her  af- 
fections, and  "  cut  out  "  of  a  fortune,  the  anticipation  of 
spending  which  was  most  cheering  to  him,  for  he  was 
without  money  and  short  of  friends.  We  think  we  have 
never  seen  a  man  walk  so  gingerly,  so  mincingly  ;  it  really 
appeared  as  though  he  trod  on  something  he  feared. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  GENIUS.  175 

But  Sampsone,  although  a  sap,  was  a  pretty  clever  sap, 
and  certainly  he  was  a  very  handsome  one ;  with  whom 
all  sappy  women  were  in  love  ;  in  which  number  was  no 
less  an  illustrious  personage,  than  Nelly  McAlpin ;  but 
their  kissing  and  hugging  had  been  so  quietly  done  and 
with  such  caution,  that  Julia  had  not  the  least  suspicion. 
Indeed,  this  young  woman  was  none  too  quick-witted ; 
although  from  the  fact  of  her  being  a  Touchmenot,  she 
considered  herself  the  equal  of  any  ;  indeed,  vnthout  a 
superior. 

It  may  surprise  some  of  our  readers  to  learn  that  "  so 
fine  a  lady  as  Mrs.  McAlpin,"  would  permit  even  so  ex- 
quisite a  gentleman  as  Mr.  Sampsone,  with  his  curly  dark 
hair,  and  pretty  black  eyes,  to  pull  her  into  his  lap,  and 
press  her  to  his  bosom ;  but  these  astonished  individuals 
are  unsophisticated  and  untravelled,  generally  speaking; 
quite  ignorant,  at  all  events,  of  the  sly  doings  of  fash- 
ionable life,  at  watering  places !  Nelly,  so  far  from 
objecting  to  this  familiarity,  in  common  with  other  taking 
and  well  made  ladies,  was  highly  pleased  at  these  un- 
mistakable marks  of  appreciation,  and  made  it  convenient 
to  be  with  "  handsome  and  spirited  beaux,"  at  all  times 
of  the  day,  particularly  in  the  evening,  among  the  rocks, 
or  some  secluded  spot, — 

"  When  the  lady  eye'd  him  o'er  and  o'er 
•  ••••• 

Her  form  had  all  the  softness  of  her  sex, 

The  sun  himself  was  scarce  more  free  from  specks, 
Than  she  from  aught  at  which  the  eye  could  cavil. 

Something  imperial,  or  imperious  threw 

A  chain  o'er  all  she  did,  that  is  a  chain 
Was  thrown  as  'twere  about  the  neck  of  you, 

And  rapture  of  self  would  seem  almost  a  pain 
With  aught  which  looks  like  despotism  in  view ; 

Our  souls  at  least  are  free,  and  'tis  in  vain 
We  would  against  them  make  the  flesh  obey ; 

The  spirit  in  the  end  will  have  its  way. 

Her  very  smile  was  haughty,  tho'  so  sweet; 

Her  very  nod  was  not  an  inclination, 
There  was  a  self-will  even  in  her  small  feet, 

As  though  they  were  quite  conscious  of  her  station 
They  trod  as  upon  necks ;...,, 


176  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

Shakspeare  talks  of  the  "  herald  mercury 

New  lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill;  " 
And  some  such  visions  cross'd  her  majesty, 

While  her  young  herald  knelt  before  her  still. 
'Tis  very  true  the  hill  seemed  rather  high 

For  a  "  gentle  love  "  to  climb  up;  but  skill 
Smooth'd  even  the  Simplon's  steep,  and,  by  God's  blessing, 
With  youth  and  health  kisses  are  "  heaven  kissing." 

Her  majesty  look'd  down,  the  youth  looked  up  — 
And  so  they  fell  in  love,  —  she  with  his  face, 

His  grace,  his  God-know's-what  ;  for  Cupid's  cup, 
With  the  first  draught  intoxicates  apace, 

A  quintessential  laudanum,  or  "  black  drop," 
,  Which  makes  one  drunk  at  once,  without  the  base 

Expedient  of  full  bumpers  ;  for  the  eye 

In  love  drinks  all  life's  fountains  (save  tears)  dry. 

Her  sweet  smile,  and  her  then  majestic  figure, 

Her  plumpness,  her  imperial  condescension, 
Her  preference  of  a  boy  to  men  much  bigger 

(Fellows  whom  Messalina's  self  would  pension), 
Her  prime  of  life,  just  now  in  juicy  vigor, 

With  other  extras  which  we  need  not  mention  — 
All  these,  or  any  one  of  these,  explain 
Enough  to  make  a  stripling  very  vain. 

The  noblest  kind  of  love  is  love  Platonical, 

To  end  or  to  begin  with ;  the  next  grand 
la  that  which  may  be  christen'd  love  canonical, 

Because  the  clergy  take  the  thing  in  hand ; 
The  third  sort  to  be  noted  in  our  chronicle, 

As  flourishing  in  every  Christian  land, 
Is  when  chaste  matrons  to  their  other  ties, 
Add  what  may  be  called  marriage  in  disguise. 

Well,  we  wont  analyze  —  our  story  must 

Tell  for  itself;  the  sovereign  was  smitten ; 
"  Sappy  "  much  flattered  by  her  love  or  lust; 

I  cannot  stop  to  alter  words  once  written, 
And  the  two  are  so  mixed  with  human  dust, 

That  he  who  names  one,  both  perchance  may  hit  on; 
But  in  such  matters  fashion's  Russia's  empress 
Behaved  no  better  than  a  common  sempstress. 

Mrs.  McAlpin  was  not  only  fond  of  sitting  in  the  laps 
of  handsome  cavaliers,  in  lonely  retired  places,  but  she 
delighted  in  playing  with  their  hairy  lips,  and  smacking 
them  heartily,  now  and  then ;  more  than  all,  she  enjoyed 
the  sea  bath  with  a  beau  who  was  a  good  swimmer  and 
affectionate  withal ;  "  she  loved  warm  hearted  gentlemen, 


THE    IKIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  177 

excessively."  This  in  fact  was  the  case  with  all  the  young 
ladies  at  the  hotel ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  no  little  mor- 
tification to  some  of  them,  who  were  not  remarkably 
prepossessing,  that  the  beaux  were  exceedingly  shy  of 
their  company  ;  whilst  they  were  anxious  for  that  of  Mrs. 
McAlpin.  It  followed,  naturally,  that  Mrs.  McAlpin  soon 
came  under  the  animadversion  of  these  "  neglected  board- 
ers," who  said  many  bitter  things  concerning  her  freedom 
with  the  beaux,  and  caused  a  good  deal  of  commotion  in 
the  hotel.  But  Nelly  was  not  "  to  be  talked  out  of  her 
fun,"  neither  were  the  other  ladies,  who  were  fond  of 
sitting  in  gentlemen's  laps  and  playing  with  their  well 
combed  and  perfumed  whiskers.  So  the  more  the  en- 
vious and  disappointed  females  clamored,  the  more  the 
successful  ones  carried  on  their  "  game  of  goose  and 
gander."  Mr.  McAlpin  frequently  had  serious  conver- 
sations with  his  wife,  in  which  he  begged  of  her  to  be 
more  discreet  and  guarded ;  told  her  of  the  reports  in 
circulation,  and  pointed  out  to  her  the  unpleasant  position 
in  which  it  placed  him.  Nelly  listened  attentively  to  all 
he  had  to  say,  and  appeared  willing  to  moderate  her  gay- 
ety,  but  she  had  been  in  Europe  and  had  seen  so  much 
of  this  kind  of  free  and  easy  life,  she  had  lost  all  relish 
for  any  other.  Then,  too,  she  was  well  aware  her  hus- 
band was  far  from  immaculate,  and  only  required  the 
excitement  of  wine  to  put  him  in  the  best  possible  hu- 
mour for  pleasing  the  ladies.  Mr.  McAlpin  was  not  slow 
at  the  business  of  gallantry,  and  could  handle  a  lady  with 
the  greatest  delicacy,  and  at  the  same  time  familiarity  —  an 
art  by  no  means  easy  of  acquisition.  Among  the  beaux 
at  the  hotel  was  a  Mr.  Gaseous,  a  vain  and  pompous 
man,  a  pushing  and  brazen-faced  character,  with  bluff 
sailor  manners,  and  as  "  brim  full  of  self-conceit  "  as  pos- 
sible. He  fancied,  as  most  saps  do,  that  the  ladies  were 
all  in  love  with  him ;  but  when  he  came  to  test  the  mat- 
ter he  found  himself  mistaken,  for  no  one  whom  he  con- 
sidered any  match  for  him  would  smile  upon  his  suit.  It 
was  his  habit  to  walk  before  a  glass  and  adjust  his  figure 
in  a  certain  manner,  adapting  his  gait  thereto,  at  the 
same  time  admiring  himself  as  the  "handsomest  man  in 
town."  He  was  quite  an  imtimate  friend  of  the  Touch- 
8* 


178  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

menots,  and  for  some  time  it  was  thought  Julia  would 
decide  to  Gaseous  the  Touchmenots  blood ;  and  doubtless 
this  would  have  happened,  if  the  elegant  "  fop  and  fool," 
Mr.  Sampsone,  had  not  suddenly  made  his  appearance, 
and  won  the  adorable  Julia  "  at  first  sight."  She  had 
always  said  she  would  love,  if  at  all,  at  first  sight,  and 
sure  enough  she  was  true  to  her  word.  Gaseous  was  one 
of  those  men,  whom  to  judge  of  from  personal  appear- 
ance, would  lead  one  to  conclude  to  be  a  courageous 
individual  who  would  cuff  anybody's  ears,  who  should 
come  between  him  and  his  expectations ;  but  he  was, 
however,  a  mere  "  bag  of  wind,"  and  could  pocket  a  dis- 
appointment or  an  insult  in  the  coolest  and  pleasantest 
manner  conceivable.  A  mere  beau,  like  beaux  in  gen- 
eral, he  was  highly  pleased  with  himself,  and  thought  it 
very  bad  taste  in  others  not  to  be  pleased  with  him  also. 
He  was  a  pleasant  talker  of  mere  common  places,  had  a 
good  deal  of  anecdote,  and  a  pretty  fair  knowledge  of 
human  nature ;  upon  this  capital,  notwithstanding  the 
drawback  of  his  birth,  he  managed  to  push  himself  into 
"  the  most  desirable  company."  But  he  was  far  from 
being  a  gentleman,  which  we  thus  define. 

Such  a  one  is  not  merely  a  person  acquainted  with 
certain  forms,  and  conventionalities  of  life,  easy  and  self- 
possessed  in  society,  able  to  speak  and  act,  and  move  in 
the  world  without  awkwardness,  and  free  from  habits 
vulgar  and  in  bad  taste  —  a  gentleman  is  something  much 
beyond  this.  At  the  base  of  all  his  ease  and  refinement, 
and  tact  and  power  of  pleasing,  is  the  same  spirit  which 
lies  at  the  root  of  every  Christian  virtue.  It  is  the 
thoughtful  desire  of  doing  in  every  instance  to  others  as 
he  would  that  others  should  do  unto  him.  He  is  con- 
stantly thinking  not  indeed  how  he  may  give  pleasure  to 
others,  for  the  mere  sense  of  pleasing,  but  how  he  can 
show  them  respect,  how  he  may  avoid  hurting  their  feel- 
ings. When  he  is  in  society,  he  scrupulously  ascertains 
the  position  of  every  one  with  whom  he  is  brought  into 
contact,  that  he  may  give  to  each  his  due  honor.  He 
etudies  how  he  may  avoid  touching  upon  any  subject 
which  may  needlessly  hurt  their  feelings  ;  how  he  may 
abstain  from  any  allusion  which  may  call  up  a  disagree- 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENITTS.  179 

able  or  offensive  association.  A  gentleman  never  alludes 
to,  never  appears  conscious  of  any  personal  defect,  bodily 
deformity,  inferiority  of  talent,  of  rank,  of  reputation,  in 
the  persons  in  whose  society  he  is  placed.  He  never  as- 
sumes any  superiority,  never  ridicules,  never  boasts,  never 
makes  a  display  of  his  own  powers,  or  rank,  or  advan- 
tages ;  never  indulges  in  habits  which  may  be  offensive  to 
others.  We  think,  not  only  Gaseous  would  be  more 
acceptable  to  society  in  general,  if  he  would  model  his 
manners  after  the  above  pattern,  but  a  large  number  of 
others,  also,  who  figure  in  what  are  termed  "  fashionable 
circles." 

We  are  not  disposed  to  particularize  the  beaux  who 
were  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  the  sea- shore  in  the  sum- 
mer season,  and  playing  "  Kiss  me  quick,"  with  the  ladies. 
Nor-  are  we  inclined  to  enter  into  an  analysis  of  their 
characters,  and  descant  on  the  various  parts,  and  their 
defects.  We  will  content  ourselves  by  including  them 
under  a  general  term,  which  is  that  of  snob-fortune  hunt- 
ers,—  men  of  large  pretensions,  but  of  empty  heads. 
Many  of  them  were  the  friends  of  Gaseous,  and  were  about 
on  a  par  with  him  ;  birds  of  a  feather  always  flocking 
together.  McAlpin,  although  associating  with  those  sweet- 
scented  individuals,  drinking,  gambling,  fishing,  and  play- 
ing billiards  with  them,  secretly  despised  the  entire  com- 
pany ;  particularly  a  young  Southerner,  who  had  been 
quite  marked  in  his  attentions  to  Mrs.  McAlpin,  and  was 
reported  as  having  been  altogether  too  intimate  with  her. 
Mr.  McAlpin,  although  of  an  excellent  temper,  of  the 
best  humor  possible,  when  in  his  cups !  was  quite  the 
contrary  when  out  of  them.  In  these  moments  the  foul 
and  slanderous  reports  respecting  his  wife,  nettled  him 
exceedingly.  He  had  every  confidence  in  Nelly ;  and 
would  not  believe  her  capable  of  infidelity,  though  all  the 
world  should  condemn  her.  Towards  the  young  South- 
erner, he  felt  a  degree  of  hostility  which  tempted  him,  at 
times,  to  desperate  violence.  He  contented  himself,  how- 
ever, for  the  present,  with  warning  the  gentleman  not  to 
pursue  his  wife  any  further  ;  that,  if  he  disregarded  his 
wishes,  he  would  do  so  at  his  peril.  Nelly  laughed  at 
the  bravado,  as  she  deemed  it,  of  her  husband,  when  the 


180  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

young  Southerner  informed  her  what  had  passed ;  and  this 
encouraged  him  the  more  to  proceed  with  his  gallantry. 
One  pleasant,  moonlit  evening,  the  twain  were  discov- 
ered at  a  late  hour,  by  McAlpin,  on  the  off-side  of  the 
hilliard  room,  seated  cooingly  together,  on  the  grass  :  — 

"  She  as  he  gaz'd  with  grateful  wonder,  press'd 
Her  shelter'd  love  to  her  impassion'd  breast; 
And  suited  to  her  soft  caresses,  told 
An  olden  tale  of  love,  —  for  love  is  old, 
Old  as  eternity,  but  not  outworn 
With  each  new  being  born,  or  to  be  born. 

He  sigh'd;  —  the  next  resource  is  the  full-moon, 
Where  all  sighs  are  deposited ;  and  now, 

It  happen  'd  luckily,  the  chaste  orb  shone 
As  clear  as  such  a  climate  will  allow; 

And  Sappy's  mind  was  in  the  proper  tone 
To  hail  her  with  the  apostrophe  — '  Oh  thou  ! ' 

Of  amatory  egotism  the  tuism, 

Which  further  to  explain  would  be  a  truism. 

By  nature  soft,  his  whole  address  held  off 
Suspicion ;  though  not  timid,  his  regard 

Was  such  as  rather  seem'd  to  keep  aloof, 
To  shield  himself,  then  put  you  on  your  guard ; 

Perhaps  'twas  hardly  quite  assur'd  enough, 
But  modesty  's  at  times  its  own  reward, 

Like  virtue;  and  the  absence  of  pretension 

Will  go  much  further  than  there's  need  to  mention. 

I  know  not  why,  but  in  that  home  to-night, 
Even  as  they  gaz'd  a  sudden  tremor  came, 

And  swept  as  'twere  across  their  heart's  delight, 
Like  the  wind  o'er  a  harp-string,  or  a  flame 

When  one  is  shook  in  sound,  and  one  in  sight; 
And  thus  some  boding  flash'd  thro'  either  frame, 

And  call'd  from  Sappy's  breast  a  faint  low  sigh, 

While  one  new  tear  arose  in  Nelly's  eye. 

That  large  black  prophet  eye  seem'd  to  dilate 

And  follow  far  the  disappearing  sun, 
As  if  their  last  day  of  a  happy  date, 

With  this  broad,  bright,  and  dropping  orb  were  gone ; 
Sappy  gaz'd  on  her  as  to  ask  his  fate  — 

He  felt  a  grief,  but  knowing  cause  for  none, 
His  glance  enquired  of  her's  for  some  excuse, 
For  feelings  causeless,  or  at  least  abstruse. 

She  turn'd  to  him  and  smiled,  but  in  that  sort 
Which  makes  not  others  smile;  then  turn'd  aside; 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  181 

Whatever  feelings  shook  her,  it  seem'd  short, 
And  master'd  by  her  wisdom,  or  her  pride; 

When  Sappy  spoke,  too  —  it  might  be  in  sport  — 
Of  this  their  mutual  feeling,  she  replied  — 

'  If  it  should  be  so,  —  but  —  it  cannot  be  — 

Or  I  at  least  shall  not  survive  to  see.' 

Sappy  would  question  further,  but  she  press'd 
His  lips  to  hers,  and  silenced  him  with  this, 

And  then  dismlss'd  the  omen  from  his  breast, 
Defying  augury  with  that  fond  kiss; 

And  no  doubt  of  all  methods  'tis  the  best; 
Some  people  prefer  wine  —  'tis  not  amiss; 

I  have  tried  both ;  so  those  who  would  a  part  take, 

May  choose  between  the  head-ache  and  the  heart-ache. 

Sappy  and  Nelly  gaz'd  upon  each  other, 

With  swimming  looks  of  speechless  tenderness, 

Which  mix'd  all  feelings,  friend,  child,  lover,  brother, 
All  that  the  best  can  mingle  and  express 

When  two  pure  hearts  are  pour'd  in  one  another, 
And -love  too  much,  and  yet  cannot  love  less; 

But  almost  sanctify  the  sweet  excess, 

By  the  immortal  wish  and  power  to  bless. 

Mix'd  in  each  other's  arms,  and  heart  in  heart, 

Why  did  they  not  then  die?  —  they  had  liv'd  too  long, 

Should  an  hour  come  to  bid  them  breathe  apart  — 
Years  could  but  bring  them  cruel  things  or  wrong, 

The  world  was  not  for  them,  nor  the  world's  art  — 
For  beings  passionate  as  Sappho's  song; 

Love  was  with  them,  in  them,  so  intense, 

It  was  their  very  spirit —  not  a  sense. 

They  should  have  liv'd  together  deep  in  woods, 
Unseen  as  sings  the  nightingale;  they  were 

Unfit  to  mix  in  these  thick  solitudes 

Call'd  social,  where  ail  vice  and  hatred  are; 

How  lonely  every  freeborn  creature  broods  ! 
The  sweetest  song-birds  nestle  in  a  pair; 

The  eagle  soars  alone ;  the  gull  and  crow 

Flock  o'er  their  carrion,  just  as  mortals  do. 

They  looked  up  to  the  sky,  whose  floating  glow, 
Spread  like  a  rosy  ocean,  vast  and  bright; 

They  gaz'd  upon  the  glittering  sea  below, 

Whence  the  broad  moon  rose  circling  into  sight. 

They  heard  the  waves  splash,  and  the  wind  so  low, 
And  saw  each  other's  dark  eyes  darting  light 

Into  each  other  —  and,  beholding  this, 

Their  lips  drew  near,  and  clung  into  a  kiss. 


182  THE  PENNIMA.NS;  OB, 

They  were  alone,  yet  not  alone  as  they 

Who,  shut  in  chambers,  think  it  loneliness; 
The  silent  ocean  and  the  moon-lit  bay, 
The  voiceless  sands  and  dropping  caves,  that  lay 
Around  them,  made  them  to  each  other  press, 
As  if  there  were  no  life  beneath  the  sky 
Save  theirs,  and  that  their  life  could  never  die. 

They  look'd  upon  each  other,  and  their  eyes 

Gleam  in  the  moonlight;  and  her  white  arm  clasps 

Round  the  Southron's  head,  and  his  round  her's  lies 
Half  buried  in  the  tresses  which  it  grasps; 

She  sits  upon  his  knee  and  drinks  his  sighs, 
He  her's,  until  they  end  in  broken  gasps; 

And  thus  they  form  a  group  that's  quite  antique, 

Half  naked,  loving,  natural,  and  Greek. 

Oh,  love  !  of  whom  great  Cassar  was  the  suitor, 
Titus  the  master,  Antony  the  slave, 

Horace,  Catullus,  scholars,  Ovid  tutor, 
Sappho  the  sage  blue-stocking,  in  whose  grave 

All  those  may  leap  who  rather  would  be  neuter  — 
(Leucadia's  rock  still  overlooks  the  wave) 

6h,  love  !  thou  art  the  very  God  of  evil, 

For  after  all  we  cannot  call  thee  devil. 

Thou  makest  the  chaste  connubial  state  precarious, 
And  jestest  with  the  brows  of  mightiest  men  : 

Csesar  and  Pompey,  Mahomet,  Balisarius, 

Have  much  employ 'd  the  muse  of  history's  pen; 

Their  lives  and  fortunes  were  extremely  various,  — 
Such  worthies  time  will  never  see  again  :  — 

Yet  to  these  four  in  three  things  the  same  luck  holds, 

They  all  were  heroes,  conquerors,  and  cuckolds. 

I  know  not  if  the  fault  be  men's  or  theirs; 

But  one  thing's  pretty  sure ;  a  woman  planted 
Unless  at  once  she  plunge  for  life  in  prayers, 

After  a  decent  time  must  be  gallanted; 
Although  no  doubt  her  first  of  love  affairs 

Is  that  to  which  her  heart  is  wholly  granted; 
Yet  there  are  some,  they  say,  who  have  had  none, 
But  those  who  have,  ne'er  end  with  only  one. 

'Tis  melancholy,  and  a  fearful  sign 
Of  human  frailty,  folly,  also  crime, 

That  love  and  marriage  rarely  can  combine, 
Although  they  both  are  born  in  the  same  clime. 

Marriage  from  love,  like  vinegar  from  wine  — 
A  sad,  sour,  sober  beverage  —  by  time 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  GENIUS.  183 

Is  sharpened  from  its  high  celestial  flavor, 
Down  to  a  very  homely  household  savor. 

The  only  two  that  in  my  recollection 

Have  sung  of  heaven  and  hell,  or  marriage,  are 

Dante  and  Milton,  and  of  both  the  affection 
Was  hapless  in  their  nuptials,  for  some  bar 

Of  fault  or  temper  ruin'd  the  connection  — 
(Such  things  in  fact  it  don't  ask  much  to  mar)  ; 

But  Dante's  Beatrice  and  Milton's  Eve 

"Were  not  drawn  from  their  spouses,  you  conceive. 

Some  persons  say,  that  Dante  meant  theology 

By  Beatrice,  and  not  a  mistress  —  I, 
Although  my  opinion  may  require  apology, 

Deem  this  a  commentator's  phantasy, 
Unless,  indeed,  it  was  from  his  own  knowledge  he 

Decided  thus,  and  show'd  good  reason  why; 
I  think  that  Dante's  more  abstruse  ecstatics 
Meant  to  personify  the  mathematics  ! 

The  Turks  do  well  to  shut  —  at  least,  sometimes  — 
The  women  up  —  because  in  sad  reality, 

Their  chastity  in  these  unhappy  climes, 
Is  not  a  thing  of  that  astringent  quality, 

Which  in  the  North  prevent  precocious  crimes, 
And  makes  our  snow  less  pure  than  our  morality; 

The  sun  which  yearly  melts  the  polar  ice, 

Has  quite  the  contrary  effect  on  vice. ' ' 

As  the  lips  of  Nelly  and  the  chivalrous  Southron  in  the 
delicate  language  of  the  poet,  "  drew  near  and  clung  into 
a  kiss,"  the  "injured  husband  "  happened  to  be  near  and 
a  witness  to  the  comedy.  He  did  not  laugh  as  some  men 
might  have  done,  but  quietly  "  pocketing  the  fun,"  walked 
towards  the  hotel,  where  he  procured  a  cow-hide  ;  then 
seated  himself  on  the  piazza  in  company  with  Gaseous,  and 
two  or  three  other  personages,  well  known  in  fashionable 
life. 

Soon,  Mrs.  Nelly  McAlpin  and  her  gay  Lothario  came 
skipping  along,  laughing  and  apparently  the  happiest  of 
the  happy.  The  clock  struck  eleven  just  as  the  twain 
walked  on  to  the  balcony,  where  Mr.  McAlpin  bursting 
with  rage  and  quite  "  in  his  cups,"  awaited  impatiently 
their  coming.  As  Mr.  Artot,  the  Southerner,  approached 
him  he  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  then  vigorously  ap- 
plied the  cow-hide,  exclaiming,  "  I'll  teach  you,  sir,  to 


184  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

let  married  women  alone."  Nelly  alarmed  at  the  rage  of 
her  husband,  retreated  into  the  hotel.  Artot,  having 
escaped  from  the  grasp  of  the  excited  husband,  drew  the 
sword  from  his  cane,  and  was  on  the  point  of  running 
McAlpin  through  the  body,  when  his  arm  was  seized  by 
the  by-standers,  and  the  weapon  wrested  from  his  hold. 
Being  surrounded  by  his  friends  he  was  led  away  to  his 
apartments,  whilst  McAlpin  remained  on  the  balcony  in 
conversation  with  the  adorable  Gaseous !  who  thought 
"  the  d — n  Southerner  got  just  what  he  deserved."  More 
than  any  one  else  he  sustained  McAlpin  boldly,  which 
was  not  a  little  strange  to  those  who  knew  his  chaiacter, 
thoroughly ;  it  being  a  well-established  fact,  that  he  never 
permitted  any  opportunity  to  go  unimproved  for  a  love 
affair  with  taking  and  voluptuous  married  ladies.  He 
was  always  "  bobbing  around."  As  may  be  supposed, 
this  "  assault  and  battery"  on  the  gallant  Southron 
caused  a  great  excitement.  Each  had  their  respective 
friends,  who  were  disposed  to  discuss  the  matter  warmly. 
Gaseous  talked  so  loud  and  seemed  so  valliant,  that, a 
witty  Scotchman  determined  to  "  take  him  down."  He 
knew  perfectly  well  "  his  man,"  having  studied  him  nar- 
rowly for  some  time  —  being  by  profession  an  author, 
whose  especial  business  it  is  to  be  posted  on  every  phase 
of  character.  The  "  adorable "  had  not  escaped  him  in 
any  particulars.  Turning  to  Gaseous  with  a  very  stern 
countenance,  and  much  solemnity  of  manner,  he  said : 

"  Sir,  you  are  so  loud  in  the  cause  of  Mr.  McAlpin, 
that  I  presume  you  intend  to  take  a  part  in  the  duel. 
Mr.  McAlpin,  or  some  one  else,  sir,  acting  for  him,  will 
be  called  upon  to  meet  Mr.  Artot  in  the  field,  in  satis- 
faction of  his  honor.'' 

"Fight  —  fight  —  No!"  replied  Gaseous,  brustling 
himself.  "  Who  said  anything  about  fight.  No,  sir,  I'm 
not  a  fighting  man.  Good  God  !  can't  a  man  speak  for  a 
friend,  without  being  expected  to  fight  for  him,  I  should 
like  to  know." 

"  Well,  sir,  let  me  tell  you,"  returned  the  Scotchman, 
sternly,  "  Mr.  Artot  is  a  fighting  man,  and  will  look  for 
you  on  the  field,  either  as  principal,  or  second  ;  "  then 
strode  away. 


THE    TKIUMFH    OF    GENIUS.  185 

Gaseous  fell  to  zero,  and  gave  others  a  chance  to  raise 
their  voices  in  defence  of  an  "  injured  husband."  „ 

The  Southerner  was  a  hot-headed  fellow,  and  wanted  to 
shoot  somebody  very  much  —  upon  a  duel  he  was  resolved. 
His  friends,  however,  finding  that  his  cause  was  a  weak 
one,  persuaded  him  to  let  the  matter  drop,  and  withdraw 
quietly  from  the  hotel,  which  excellent  advice,  he  concluded 
to  accept.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McAlpin  also  left  immediately 
and  proceeded  to  a  quiet  retreat  in  the  interior  of  New 
York.  At  first  they  purposed  to  visit  Virginia  Springs  ; 
but  as  McAlpin  had  cow-hided  a  Southern  man,  he 
thought  it  more  prudent  to  keep  this  side  of  Mason's 
and  Dixon's  line.  We  think  he  decided  wisely.  We  have 
rarely  heard  an  affair  so  generally  and  passionately  dis- 
cussed, as  this  attack  of  Mr.  McAlpin  upon  Mr.  Artot. 

Julia  Touchmenot  declared  herself  to  be  quite  disgusted 
•with  Mr.  McAlpin's  conduct ;  and  could  not  understand 
why  a  married  lady  had  not  a  right  to  flirt  with  any  gen- 
tleman who  might  give  her  the  opportunity.  So  thought 
the  Yellowbodies,  and  a  number  of  others,  who  were  at 
the  hotel,  belonging  to  that  "  set,"  for  which  so  much  is 
claimed  on  the  score  of  decency,  refinement,  superior  in- 
telligence ! 

The  Blowhards  were  loud  in  their  support  of  Julia, 
and  so  were  the  Catchpennys ;  and  indeed,  pretty  much 
all  that  clique.  Mr.  Sampsone,  however,  thought  such 
familiarity  with  married  ladies,  as  Mr.  Artot  was  known 
to  take  with  Mrs.  McAlpin,  positively  shocking,  most  dis- 
graceful. As  he  was  to  be  married  soon,  he  deemed  it 
wise  to  enter  this  earnest  protest  against  flirting,  so  that 
his  wife  might  not  put  him  to  the  necessity  of  limbering  a 
cow-hide  over  some  insinuating  gallant's  back,  which  he 
declared  he  "  felt  sure  he  should  do,  if  he  discovered  any 
man  hugging  and  kissing  his  lady  privately  or  publicly." 
Sampsone  was  not  a  very  muscular  person,  apparently, 
though  having  a  determined,  brigand  appearance  :  and 
we  feel  quite  sure,  if  not  able  to  use  the  cow-hide  ener- 
getically himself,  he  would  have  drawn  on  his  father-in- 
law,  who  was  to  be,  for  an  amount  sufficient  to  meet  the 
expense  of  employing  a  drayman  to  do  the  work.  We 
hardly  think  Mr.  Sampsone  had  energy  enough  to  whip  any 


186  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OE, 

body,  soundly  ;  and  that  he  regarded  his  day's  work  done, 
when  he  had  shaved,  eaten  breakfast,  visited  the  club, 
read  the  papers,  dined,  taken  a  siesta,  a  drive  into  the 
country,  and  conversed  upon  polite  learning ;  then  fol- 
lowed bed  reluctantly  and  "  balmy  sleep,"  with  an  occa- 
sional loud  snore,  which  much  annoyed  his  next  door 
neighbor. 

Sampsone  was  what  is  understood  by  "  a  pretty  man  " — 
a  fellow  who  "  enjoys  himself"  at  anybody's  expense, 
save  his  own.  Old  Touchmenot  was  by  no  means  pleased 
at  the  prospect  of  his  having  to  support  such  a  burden, 
as  "  a  handsome  shiftless  dandy,"  who  had  the  coolness 
to  tell  him  one  morning,  that  "  he  never  should  want  for 
a  dollar,  while  he  had  a  cent  in  his  pocket." 

•'  Sir,"  said  old  Touchmenot,  with  his  hard  and  leather- 
looking  countenance,  partially  concealed  by  the  downward 
posture  of  his  uncombed  head,  —  "  Sir,  do  you  use  cop- 
pers 1 

"  Not  when  I  can  get  gold ;  "  returned  the  exquisite. 

And  so  it  was  with  this  individual  always.  "  He  did 
the  best  he  could."  He  engaged  himself  to  this  old 
man's  daughter  for  a  comfortable  home  and  income ;  and 
because  the  girl  was  much  loved  by  her  father,  he  was  most 
forbearing  towards  "  her  choice,"  against  which  he  had 
strenuously  contended.  When  the  affair  which  had  cre- 
ated so  much  excitement,  in  which  the  McAlpins  and  Mr. 
Artqt  were  particularly  concerned,  was  related  to  him,  he 
raised  his  right  foot,  and  then  violently  placed  it  on  the 
floor,  saying : 

"  Fashionable  schools  and  fashionable  watering  places 
are  hells  upon  earth;  there  is  nothing  but  fashionable 
prostitution  in  both.  And  I  swear  if  these  things  don't 
mend  a  little,  I'll  lobby  for  a  law  that  shall  make  them 
mend  !  Such  doings  —  by  Heavens  1  'tis  disgraceful." 

This  seemed  to  be  the  opinion  among  the  "  old  fogies," 
pretty  generally  —  those  out  of  whom  the  "  sap  of  lively 
youth  had  gone  !  "  but  they  were  only  laughed  at  for  their 
conservatism,  and  ridiculed  for  their  want  of  good  taste, 
and  the  power  of  enjoying  a  flirtation!  "Young  Ameri- 
ca," it  seems,  is  irrepressible ;  and  however  indiscreet  it  may 
be,  (even  to  lewdness !)  yet  it  flourishes  in  all  the  fulness 


THE    TEITJMPH    OF    GEXITJS.  187 

of  triumph !  Morals  are  nothing,  common  sense  is  noth- 
ing, but  energy,  snap,  is  all  in  all !  do  only  something  smart, 
O,  Young  America  !  and  you  shall  be  applauded  to  the 
echo,  no  matter  how  many  virgins  weep,  or  orphans  are 
defrauded.  Be  smart,  indeed  inventive,  incomprehensible ; 
justice  call  a  joke,  and  Heaven  a  dream  ;  religion  an  ex- 
periment which  does  not  and  cannot  succeed,  —  and  you 
shall,  if  successful  in  your  abandon,  your  pleasing  reck- 
lessness, be  considered  "  the  salt  of  the  earth,"  and  shall 
be  praised  exceedingly ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

«'  They  met,  and  face  to  face  ;  she  scornful  looked 
At  those  she  thought  her  foes,  then  sweeping  by 
She  seemed  with  deadly  hate  to  charge  her  eye." 

THE  McAlpins  and  Pennimans  were  in  a  high  state 
of  perturbation.  Mrs.  Penniman  would  not  believe  one 
word  of  the  infermous  reports,  as  she  termed  them,  about 
her  daughter.  She  thought  it  was  most  scandalous  to  say 
such  vile  things  of  Nelly,  and  only  wished  she  could  fix 
these  slanders  upon  somebody.  She  was  quite  sure  those 
"  envious  and  abominable  Atlays,"  were  the  instigators  of 
the  abuse  of  her  daughter ;  but  to  her  great  discomfiture 
she  Avas  totally  without  proof.  The  Atlays  boarded  in 
the  village,  and  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  their  friends 
at  the  hotel,  and  attending  the  hops.  Between  the  Pen- 
nimans and  this  family,  there  was  no  intercourse  whatever, 
although  Mrs.  Penniman  and  Mrs.  Atlay  had  been  school 
mates,  and  often  played  together.  .  But  as  Mrs.  Penniman 
did  not  deem  Mrs.  Atlay  to  be  her  equal,  she  slighted  her 
acquaintance  by  "  noticing  her  only  when  convenient." 
Mrs.  Atlay  on  perceiving  the  estimation  in  which  she  was 
held  by  the  Pennimans,  dropped  their  acquaintance  alto- 
gether, although  without  the  least  ill-will,  or  disposition 
in  any  manner,  to  injure  them.  For  Mrs.  Atlay  was  a 
high-toned  lady,  born  and  bred,  who  would  not  stoop  to 
a  meanness  of  any  kind,  however  great  the  provocation. 
She  was  a  woman  not  unlike  Madam  Parisan  in  the  vigor, 
independence,  and  moral  tone  of  her  mind  ;  and  while 
conscious  of  her  own  respectability  and  position,  was  not 
at  all  affected  by  the  pretensions  and  airs  of  others.  She 
courted  no  one's  society,  but  was  affable  and  entertaining 
to  all  those  who  were  of  her  acquaintances.  She  made 


THE    TEITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  189 

no  dash  ;  she  was  a  perfect  lady,  and  a  companion  for  the 
noblest  of  earth.  Madam  Parisan  was  her  friend,  and  so 
likewise  were  many  of  the  most  solid,  substantial  women 
of  the  city.  Yet,  Mrs.  Atlay  was  deemed  no  fit  person 
for  the  circle  of  the  Pennimans  ;  and  indeed  she  was  not, 
for  she  was  a  woman  of  too  much  good  sense  to  find  any 
pleasure  in  pretension,  or  the  follies  of  foppish  conven- 
tionalisms. She  loved  sincerity,  and  she  delighted  in  vis- 
iting, and  entertaining  in  return  kind  hearts  and  generous 
minds  ;  in  common  with  Mrs.  Parisan,  she  had  a  great 
respect  for  genius ;  and  did  all  in  her  power  to  aid  per- 
sons who  were  ambitious  of  fame.  She  and  her  daughter, 
as  we  before  said,  were  the  particular  friends  of  Andrews, 
and  did  much  to  sustain  him  under  his  severe  trials. 
Mrs.  Parisan  sympathized  likewise  with  him ;  she  was  of 
the  number  of  his  most  cherished  friends. 

The  Pennimans,  now  that  they  suspected  the  Atlays  of 
this  spiteful  treatment,  these  slanderous  reports,  were  fu- 
rious against  them,  and  denounced  them  in  most  bitter 
terms.  Mr.  Atlay  was  highly  indignant  at  this  denun- 
ciation, and  decided  that  he  would  bring  an  action  against 
them  for  defamation  of  character ;  but  he  was  dissuaded 
from  this  by  his  family,  who  declared  the  Pennimans  "  be- 
neath their  notice." 

Some  days  subsequent  to  the  late  affair  of  gallantry, 
Mrs.  Atlay  with  her  daughter,  was  seated  in  a  confection- 
ary store  on  Washington  Street,  when  the  Pennimans 
entered.  They  cast  a  look  of  contempt  towards  the  At- 
lays, and  with  an  air  of  great  dignity,  seated  themselves 
in  an  opposite  part  of  the  saloon.  The  Atlays,  perfectly 
self-possessed,  appeared  not  to  be  aware  of  their  manner, 
nor  the  insult  intended,  but  ate  their  ice  cream,  cake  and 
jelly,  in  perfect  good  nature.  This  non-chalance  was  any 
thing  but  satisfactory  to  Mrs.  Penniman,  who  fired  with 
spite,  and  the  suspicion  of  wrong,  was  as  a  tigress  !  Had 
she  dared,  she  would  have  assailed  Mrs.  Atlay  on  the 
spot,  and  would  have  soundly  beaten  her  with  her  tongue 
and  fists.  She  had  never  hated  a  woman  as  she  hated 
this  Mrs.  Atlay,  and  vengeance  she  would  have,  sooner  or 
later.  Indeed,  so  excited  was  she,  that  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  remain  in  the  room  long  enough  to  eat  the  ice 


190  THE    PEXNIMANS;    OK, 

cream  and  cake,  which  had  been  ordered.  She  arose 
abruptly,  followed  by  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Donothing,  and 
walked  defiantly  out  of  the  apartment,  her  face  energetic 
with  hate  !  Something  she  muttered  to  herself,  which 
Mrs.  Atlay  thought  to  be,  an  oath  of  vengeance. 

This  was  really  the  first  mortification  that  the  Penni- 
mans  had  experienced  —  this  cow-hiding  affair,  and  it  had 
nearly  distracted  them ;  in  such  a  manner,  too,  that  it  was 
feared  by  the  family  physician,  Mrs.  Penniman  would  have 
to  be  removed  to  the  asylum  for  the  insane.  But  Mrs.  Pen- 
nirnan,  and  in  fact  all  the  Pennimans,  had  so  much  self- 
esteem,  assurance,  and  such  a  decided  contempt  for  persons 
in  general,  that  before  many  days  they  had  reasoned  them- 
selves out  of  their  mortification  ;  and  only  wondered  that 
they  could  possibly  have  fallen  into  that  state  of  "  vulgar 
and  plebeian  dejection." 

As  they  passed  from  the  store  on  to  the  street,  they  meet 
in  full  dress,  and  smiling  as  ever,  the  gay  and  dashing 
Julia  Touchmenot,  in  whose  company  they  continued  walk- 
ing towards  the  Common,  which  they  crossed  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Mill-dam,  talking  quite  earnestly  and  loud  as 
they  went  along,  with  their  elegant  dresses  sweeping  the 
ground  !  Julia  had  just  returned  from  Newport,  to  make 
some  expensive  purchases  for  the  grand  fancy  ball,  soon 
to  take  place.  She  was  sure  it  would  be  the  most  suc- 
cessful of  any  which  had  as  yet  been  announced  ;  and  she 
intended,  she  said,  to  do  her  full  share  towards  "  its  com- 
plete triumph."  She  thought  fancy  balls  were  "  such 
nice  things,"  that  all  who  could  contribute  to  their  SUQ- 
cess,  ought  to  do  so,  as  much,  and  even  more,  than  to  the 
cause  of  Christianity  !  for  Christianity,  she  declared,  was 
oftentimes  misused,  but  balls,  never !  And  she  was  so 
fond  of  dancing,  too.  She  so  delighted  to  feel  herself  affec- 
tionately pressed  by  her  partner  in  the  "  imperial  waltz." 

"  Muse  of  the  many  twinkling  feet !  whose  charms 
Are  now  extended  up  from  legs  to  arms!  " 

Yes,  Julia  was  fond  of  balls,  of  being  twirled  about, 
and  tightly  hugged  ;  so,  indeed,  were  all  the  young  wo- 
men of"  her  set;  "  they  loved  exercise  ;  not  that  they  cared 
anything  about  the  beaux ;  oh,  no,  but  only  the  excite- 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  191 

ment  of  the  motions  —  the  "  healthy  exercise  "  obtained, 
in  the  kindly  arms  of  "  dear  darling  beaux." 

None  of  these  ever  missed  a  ball ;  they  had  rather  miss 
their  prayers  a  thousand  times  than  Newport  once,  in  its 
gayest  season.  For  here,  and  then,  they  "  put  on  their 
best,"  and  here,  and  then,  they  sometimes  made  their  mar- 
ket, sold  themselves  to  some  "  good-looking  gentleman," 
who  could  afford  to  keep  them  well  dressed  and  well 
stuffed,  and  who  would  pay  their  bills.  They  danced  to 
some  purpose,  when  they  happened  to  dance  into  the 
keeping  of  men,  who,  for  their  taking  forms,  and  full 
round  bosoms,  and  well-filled  purses  oftentimes,  engaged 
to  attend  to  all  their  wants,  eternally  !  A  courageous 
promise,  which  too  many  but  imperfectly  fulfill.  Yet, 
they  are  in  demand,  and  that  maiden  whose  charms  are  on 
such  bestowed,  is  of  all  others  deemed  most  fortunate. 
How  envious  are  they,  who  cannot  match  at  Newport,  or 
some  other  market,  where  trade  is  brisk. 

Reader,  do  you  talk  of  prostitution  among  the  low  ? 
behold  it  in  all  its  sad  criminality  among  the  high  !  — 
Watch  that  young  woman  ;  see  her  arts ;  see  how  she 
baits  her  hook  ;  how  she  contrives ;  and  say,  oh,  say,  if 
this  is  not  the  precise  management  of  the  courtezan  !  Is 
she  not  debauched  in  mind,  and  does  she  not  traffick  in 
her  charms  ?  Why  is  that  bosom  dressed  so  low :  why 
is  that  form  made  up  so  sensually  ?  why  that  neck  so 
bare  ?  why  those  arms  so  much  exposed  ?  why  those  eyes 
so  fascinatingly  contrived,  and  why  those  cheeks  so  trained 
to  blush,  those  lips  so  ready  to  express  their  hopes  ?  And 
why,  alas !  that  tongue  so  musical  with  passion,  poetry, 
and  all  the  clap- trap  of  seduction  —  O,  why  ?  for  a  hus- 
band, of  course  —  a  keeper  —  a  friend  —  a  somebody  to 
love.  Ah,  yes !  to  love,  indeed !  would  it  were  so  ;  for 
then  there  would  be  some  palliation  for  all  this  harlotry  ; 
but  these  do  not  marry  to  love,  but  to  live,  and  frequent- 
ly more  loosely  than  ever  !  Oh,  ye,  who  have  not  the 
advantage  of  these  market-places  by  the  sea,  wherein  to 
sell  yourselves  for  better  or  worse  to  some  letcherous,  well- 
dressed,  soft-spoken  man,  who  never  thinks  of  woman, 
other  than  his  toy,  be  not  envious,  be  not  sorrowful,  be 
not  discontent,  for  your  hearts,  your  hopes,  your  happi- 


192  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OB, 

ness,  not  being  thus  imperilled,  you  have  much  to  console 
you,  and  much  at  which  to  rejoice.  The  entire  system  is 
one  of  immorality,  and  whoever  lays  up  their  hopes  in  it, 
may  look  for  disappointment  and  despair. 

As  Mrs.  Penniman  walked  by  the  side  of  Julia,  she 
asked  her  concerning  the  company  at  Newport,  whether 
it  was  quite  select,  or  otherwise,  to  which  Miss  Touchme- 
not  replied : 

"  Oh,  quite  distinguished !  Though  there  are  some 
vulgar  people  there,  as  always  will  happen.  People  with 
money,  you  know,  go  any  where ;  and  the  less  they  are 
noticed,  the  more  obtrusive,  I  really  believe,  they  become. 
Some  of  the  New  Yorkers  are  mere  trash ;  and  some  from 
the  West  are  hoggish  enough,  I  do  declare." 

"  Well,  what  else  can  you  expect,  my  dear  girl,  of  peo- 
ple who  are  bred  among  swine,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Penni- 
man. "  If  one  associates  with,  and  gets  their  living 
through  and  by  cattle  and  hogs,  how  can  they  be  refined  ? 
One  never  knows  much  about  characters  from  New  York, 
the  South  or  West !  There  is  nothing  like  our  New 
England  stock  —  this  we  know  is  good." 

"  You  may  say  what  you  please  against  New  York  and 
the  West,"  returned  Julia;  "but  you  shall  not  speak 
unkindly  of  Southerners.  I  like  them  so  much ;  /  do, 
indeed!  They  are  such  capital  fellows  to  flirt  with,  such 
perfect  ladies'  men." 

"  They  are  well  enough,"  returned  Mrs.  Penniman, 
"  when  one  knows  who  they  are.  For  my  part  I  like  to 
know  all  about  people  —  who,  and  what  they  are.  It  is 
not  safe,  you  will  find,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  indi- 
viduals simply  because  they  are  agreeable.  The  devil 
himself  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  persons ;  yet  I  am 
sure  you  would  not  knowingly  be  of  his  company." 

"  I  might  if  he  was  pretty  and  could  say  pretty  things, 
in  a  '  taking  way,'  "  replied  Julia.  "  Then,  if  he  could 
dance  well,  sing  well  and  swim  well,  I  am  sure  I  should 
cultivate  his  acquaintance." 

"  Oh,  you  do  but  jest,"  returned  Mrs.  Penniman. 
"  Who  are  these  persons  coming  up  the  street  ?  " 

"  There  ?  why  they  are  the  Catchpennys,"  replied 
Julia.  "  How  those  girls  do  want  to  get  engaged." 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  193 

"  Yes,  and  how  their  mother  manceuvers  for  them,"  ro- 
plied  Mrs.  Penniman.  "  Deliver  me  form  manoeuvring 
mothers,  above  all  things.  The  gentleman  with  them,  I 
think,  is  Dr.  Ricado  —  poor  Dr.  —  it's  a  pitty  he  can't 
get  some  one  to  have  him.  He  is  a  real  standing  dish, 
and  so  too  is  Dr.  Whiskers." 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  detest  that  Dr.  Whiskers,"  re- 
joined Julia.  "  I  heartily  despise  him." 

"  Do  you,  really  !  well,  I  am  surprised  at  that,"  returned 
Mrs.  Penniman. 

"  I  am  sick  of  men  who  call  themselves  doctors,  and 
whom  I  would  not  trust  to  take  care  of  a  sick  .toe ;  "  re- 
joined Miss  Touchmenot. 

"  Yes,  but  then  they  are  very  pleasant  beaux,"  returned 
Mrs.  Penniman,  "  and  in  cases  where  they  are  well  con- 
nected, and  have  the  means  to  support  themselves  hand- 
somely, I  cannot  see  the  objection  to  them. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  there  is  really  any  objection  to 
them,"  returned  Julia,  "  but  then  this  Dr.  Whiskers  is 
such  a  queer  fellow ;  why,  he  seems  to  me  more  like  a 
saint  than  a  man.  Ha  !  ha !  ha  ! 

"  He  does,  upon  my  word,  and  that  he  may  be  for  aught 
I  know,"  returned  Mrs.  Penniman,  smiling   at  the  idea  ; 
. "  there  are  a  great  many  persons  styling  themselves  men, 
who  ought  to  be  saints  or  in  petticoats  —  'tis  bearly  possi- 
ble he  may  be  one.     Ha,  ha,  ha." 

'Tis  shameful  for  women  to  wear  the  breeches,  but,  as 
you  say,  they  will  sometimes,"  returned  Miss  Touchme- 
not. 

"  A  fine  show  shop  this  world,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Penni- 
man ;  "at  least  I  should  think  so,  by  the  extravagance  of 
the  Catchpenny's  dresses ;  but  then  toys  must  be  pretty, 
to  command  a  sale." 

"  And  you  know,"  rejoined  Miss  Julia,  "  it  does  not 
matter  much  who  the  purchasers  are,  so  that  they  have 
plenty  of  money  ;  they  are  in  that  case  accounted  great 
cards,  and  the  girls  like  to  play  them,  if  they  are  a  little 
soiled.  No  sensible  girl  expects  to  get  a  man  of  any  sort 
of  attractions,  with  his  virtue  in  any  other  condition  than 
a  most  ragged  one." 

"  A  lamentable  state  of  affairs  to  be  sure,"  rejoined 
Mrs.  Penniman. 


194  THE    PENNIMANS. 

"  Did  you  notice  where  the  Catchpennys  went  ?"  inter- 
rogated Miss  Touchmenot. 

"  There  they  go  across  the  common,"  replied  Mrs.  Pen- 
niman  ;  "  seeing  us  they  appeared  to  go  in  that  direction 
for  the  express  purpose  of  avoidance." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?  "  returned  Julia.  "  I've  really 
thought  the  Catchpennys  very  much  attached  to  us." 

"  That  may  be,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Penniman  ;  "  but  there's 
little  or  no  sympathy  between  us,  and  she  knows  it,  and 
that  makes  her  shy." 

"  Who  was  that  couple  just  past,  —  wasn't  that  young 
Andrews  ?  "  interrupted  Julia. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Penniman,  "  young  Andrews  and 
his  lady  —  Agnes  Farriday." 

"  You  don't  say,"  rejoined  Miss  Touchmenot ;  "  what 
a  splendid  couple.  She  is  one  of  the  handsomest  women 
I  ever  saw,  and  he  is  the  very  handsomest  man.  What 
eyes  they  both  have.  My  gracious !  they  are  full  of  fire 
and  pride." 

"She  —  you  know  what  she  is?  "  rejoined  Mrs.  Pen- 
niman. 

*•  A  common  creature,  I  have  understood,"  replied 
Julia,  "  but  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  The  fact  is, 
every  woman  is  common,  in  the  opinion  of  some  people, 
who  may  have  independence  enough  to  do  as  she  pleases." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  she  is  not  chaste,"  replied  Mrs.  Pen- 
niman. "  My  sons  know  all  about  her.  Oh,  here  are 
those  hateful  Atlay's.  Come,  let's  go  in." 

Both  Mrs.  Penniman,  her  daughter,  and  Julia,  who 
were  by  the  door-steps  of  the  latter's  residence,  disap- 
peared into  the  house  at  once  in  order  to  avoid  the  Atlays, 
whom  they  detested.  They  were  to  leave  in  a  few  days 
for  Newport,  to  be  at  the  grand  fancy  ball. 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

11  Onward  his  step  —  his  triumphs  now  begin." 

WHEN  William  Andrews  was  forsaken  by  Nelly  Pen- 
niman  and  McAlpin  taken  in  his  stead,  he  was  deeply 
moved  and  bent  on  some  means  of  revenge ;  but  his 
father,  who  was  a  cool,  collected  man,  stayed  his  passion 
and  said :  — 

"  Let  your  life,  my  noble  boy  —  your  goodness  and 
virtue  be  your  revenge.  Go  on  with  a  thorough  intel- 
lectual training,  aspire  to  become  a  man  of  influence,  and 
when  you  have  won  for  yourself  a  position,  let  the  world 
see,  and  the  Pennimans  in  particular,  that  the  insult  of- 
fered to  your  youth  has  been  wiped  away  by  the  glory  of 
your  manhood."  These  words  were  indelibly  impressed 
on  the  mind, —  the  memory  of  young  Andrews ;  and  he  de- 
termined to  accept  this  as  the  purpose  of  his  life,  and  to 
triumph  over  those  who  had  so  grossly  ill-treated  him. 
He  had  secured  the  love  of  a  noble  woman  and  was  now 
a  practising  and  promising  lawyer. 

Strange  to  relate,  among  his  first  cases  was  a  suit  against 
Mr.  Penniman,  brought  in  favor  of  a  master-mechanic  for 
extra  work  done  on  some  building  belonging  to  Penniman. 
To  the  great  joy  of  Andrews  he  obtained  his  case,  and 
thus  took  his  step  on  the  first  round  of  that  ladder,  which 
was  to  raise  him  in  triumph  over  those  who  had  insulted 
and  spurned  him. 

Penniman,  as  we  have  said,  was  a  close-fisted  rascal ; 
and  to  have  been  beaten  in  this  matter  by  a  young  man, 
whom  he  had  deemed  so  inferior  to  himself,  was  a  circum- 
stance, from  the  effect  of  which  he  did  not  soon  recover. 
It  threw  him  into  a  violent  fever,  and  enraged  his  wife, 
also,  to  an  alarming  degree  ;  she,  however,  was  always 
ready  for  an  excitement  whenever  the  family  interest  was 
directly  or  indirectly  assailed. 


196  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

Andrews  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  had  made  himself 
felt  by  these  people,  whilst  McAlpin  was  amusing  himself 
with  cow-hiding  his  friend  for  too  great  an  intimacy  with 
his  wife,  and  drinking  himself  merry,  daily.  Certainly 
the  contrast  was  marked ;  and  now,  that  young  Andrews 
was  pronounced  one  of  the  most  talented  and  promising 
members  of  the  bar,  everybody  exclaimed,  "  How  much  the 
superior  of  McAlpin  !  "  It  had  taken  them  some  time  to 
find  this  out ;  but  they  were  quite  sure  they  had  made  no 
mistake.  He  had  met  and  vanquished  the  Pennimans  in 
court,  and  this,  too,  in  a  most  masterly  manner  ;  nothing 
could  have  delighted  him  more,  or  put  him  in  better 
humour  with  himself.  •  He  was  in  the  course  of  a  week 
to  be  married  to  Agnes  Farriday  ;  many  persons  from  the 
city  intended  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony,  which  was  to 
take  place  at  Lexington. 

Agnes  had  her  wedding-dress  all  in  readiness,  and  was 
one  of  the  happiest  women  in  the  anticipation  of  being  so 
-  soon  united  to  the  man  whom  she  so  dearly  loved.  Ida 
Robertson,  whom  the  reader  will  remember,  as  the  lady 
who  succeeded  Nelly  in  the  regard  of  Mr.  Andrews,  was 
quite  affected  at  the  news,  that  he  was  indeed  to  be  mar- 
ried to  such  an  "  abandoned  woman."  Because,  she  had 
always  hoped  he  would  marry  her,  eventually ;  notwith- 
standing, she  wasxconstantly  striving  "  to  catch  "  every  de- 
sirable man,  with  whom  she  became  acquainted,  and  had 
treated  him  neglectfully  in  his  troubles.  She  thought  he 
would  not  be  likely  to  meet  with  just  such  a  woman  as 
he  hoped  for  ;  and  that  in  case  she  failed  to  make  her 
market  elsewhere,  she  should  have  him  "  to  fall  back 
upon."  Andrews,  however,  understood  her  perfectly,  and 
had  determined  to  remain  single  all  his  life,  rather  than  to 
be  wedded  to  Ida.  "  Modern  Athens  "  is  overrun  with 
just  such  young  women  as  she  ;  and  the  task  would  not 
be  an  easy  one  to  write  out  all  their  characters  with  the 
peculiarities  belonging  to  each.  Were  we  willing  to  incur 
this  labor,  they  would  be  easily  recognized  by  those  fa- 
miliar with  "  good  society  "  in  this  growing  metropolis. 
We  have  been  amused,  greatly  so,  at  the  game  for  a  hus- 
band, that  is  played  among  the  more  cultivated  grades  of 
society,  as  well  as  the  lower  strata.  The  pen  of  the 


THE    TKIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  197 

satirist  has  been  earnestly  employed  in  every  age,  to  reg- 
ulate the  manners  of  this  class  of  genteel  idlers  ;  but,  it 
is  useless  to  attempt  to  redicule,  or  to  shame  them  into 
decency.  Akenside  writes : 

"  Meek  honor,  female  shame, 

O  !  whither,  sweetest  offspring  of  the  sky, 
From  Albion  dost  thou  fly ; 

Of  Albion's  daughters  once  the  favorite  fame; 
0  beauty's  only  friend, 

Who  giv'st  her  pleasing  reverence  to  inspire; 
Who  selfish  bold  desire 

Dost  to  esteem  a:;d  dear  affection  turn ; 
Alas  !  of  thee  forlorn 

What  joy,  what  praise,  what  hope  can  life  pretend. 

Behold ;  our  youths  in  vain 
Concerning  nuptial  happiness  inquire; 

Our  maids  no  more  aspire 
The  arts  of  bashful  Hymen  to  attain; 

But  with  triumphant  eyes 
And  cheeks  impassive  as  they  move  along, 

Ask  homage  of  the  throng; 
The  lover  swears  that  in  a  harlot's  arms 

Are  found  the  self-same  charms, 
And  worthless  and  deserted  lives  and  dies. 

Behold;  unbless'd  at  home, 
The  father  of  the  cheerless  household  mourns; 

The  night  in  vain  returns, 
For  love  and  glad  content  at  distance  roam; 

While  she,  in  whom  his  mind 
Seeks  refuge  from  the  day's  dull  task  of  cares. 

To  meet  him  she  prepares, 
Thro'  noise  and  spleen  and  all  the  gamester's  art, 

A  listless,  harass'd  heart, 
Where  not  one  tender  heart  can  welcome  find." 

We  are  not  among  those  who  expect  of  women  impos- 
sibilities; we  know  they  are  human,  and  are  subject  to  all 
the  evil  passions  of  humanity.  Boccaccio  in  his  "  De- 
cameron "  has  told  us  of  what  they  were  capable  of  doing 
in  his  day,  and  we  fear  they  are  not  much  more  reliable  in 
our  own.  It  is  only  by -knowing  what  society  has  been, 
that  we  may  be  put  on  our  guard  against  what  it  may  be- 
come again.  Indeed,  the  Julias,  the  Mrs.  McAlpins,  and 
the  Catchpennys  of  life,  are  always  to  be  feared ;  and  if 


198  THE    PENXTMANS. 

we  would  learn  their  real  characters,  and  proclivities,  we 
have  only  to  turn  to  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio  and  kin- 
dred works.  It  was  women  of  this  stamp  who  attracted 
the  genius  of  that  writer,  and  whom  he  has  so  neatly  and 
masterly  branded  with  the  mark  of  shame. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

u  Disastrous  words  can  best  disaster  shoTr, 
In  angry  phrase  the  angry  passions  glow." 

THE  Summer  had  passed,  and  all  those  who  had  resort- 
ed to  the  sea-shore,  or  to  the  country  for  pleasure,  had 
returned.  It  was  a  Sunday  ;  the  wind  was  cold  and  hois- 
terous,  but  the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  beams  of  the  sun 
most  grateful.  Ida  Robertson  sat  alone  in  her  chamber,  a 
pleasant  room  in  the  third  story  of  a  house  located  in 
T  .  .  .  .  e  Street.  She  had  of  late  lost  her  father  and 
mother,  and  was  at  present  residing  with  a  widow  aunt,  to 
whom  she  was  much  attached  from  girlhood. 

She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  with  a  countenance 
open,  and  much  the  more  interesting,  by  the  tinge  of  sorrow 
with  which  it  was  sweetly  marked.  She  had  loved  Andrews, 
as  she  believed  ;  but  she  never  realized  the  depth  of  that 
sentiment,  until  she  had  mingled  much  with  society,  and 
had  learned  the  superior  worth  of  his  character  over  all 
others  with  whom  she  became  acquainted.  She  had  been 
successively  addressed  by  a  number  of  fast  young  gentle- 
men, worthless  for  all  practical  pursuits.  They  had  flat- 
tered her  exceedingly,  and  endeavored  to  win  her  affec- 
tions, or  rather  her  money.  Her  father  was  known  to  be 
a  man  well  off,  but  it  appeared  at  his  death  that  he  had 
been  considerably  overrated  ;  still,  Ida  was  left  a  hand- 
some property,  which  she  shared  liberally  with  the  worthy 
poor,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  relying  on  her  for  assist- 
ance. 

Through  the  Christian  kindness  of  this  lady,  some 
dozen  families  were  handsomely  aided  and  protected 
from  want ;  indeed,  she  never  refused  aid  to  any  beggars, 
who  inspired  her  with  a  belief  in  their  distress  ;  so  much 
in  contrast  with  that  act  of  brutality  which  old  Throck- 
morton  experienced  at  the  door  of  a  wealthy  man,  which 


200  THE    PENNI.MAXS;    OR, 

we  detailed  in  an  early  chapter.  Ida,  though  generous- 
hearted,  was  calculating  and  shrewd,  and  although  she 
had  been  pressed  by  many  fascinating  men  to  marriage 
she  had  escaped  them  all,  in  hopes  to  win  her  first  and 
only  love,  William  Andrews.  Since  his  intimacy  with 
Agnes  Farriday  had  become  public,  and  it  was  understood 
generally  that  he  was  to  marry  her,  Ida  had  fallen  into  a 
state  of  misery,  not  easily  described. 

She  had  uniformly  refused  to  see  anybody,  and  rarely 
went  upon  the  street,  unless  in  the  evening,  when  she 
could  walk  unobserved.  She  had  repeatedly  endeavored 
to  have  an  interview  with  Mr.  Andrews  at  her  room,  since 
his  acquaintance  with  Agnes,  but  he  had  always  studious- 
ly avoided  a  meeting,  and  for  the  reason,  he  knew  it  would 
be  a  painful  one ;  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  He  had 
written  in  reply  to  her  letters, 'invariably  with  courtesy 
and  kindness,  but  always  with  firmness  in  the  resistance 
of  her  claims  to  his  affection.  She  wished  him  to  cast  off 
Miss  Farriday,  and  take  her  to  his  bosom.  This  was  not 
>n  his  power  to  do,  as  Agnes  had  bound  him  to  her  by  a 
spell  of  sympathy,  he  could  not,  if  he  would,  remove. 

When  Ida  fairly  realized  that  Andrews  was  fully  lost  to 
her,  and  forever,  —  that  all  the  long  cherished  hopes  which 
she  had  entertained  of  being  joined  to  him  in  the  holy 
bonds  of  wedlock  were  a  delusion,  she  was  nearly  frantic 
from  disappointment  and  despair.  But  Ida  was  not  so 
weak  of  mind  as  to  destroy  herself  at  once,  though  self- 
destruction  was  often  present 'to  her  soul;  and  at  times 
there  was  a  peculiar  delight  in  meditating  the  step ;  for 
beyond  this  world  she  thought  there  might  be  happiness, 
and  she  had  given  up  all  expectation  of  joy,  or  e'en  peace 
of  mind  in  this.  Yet,  until  young  Andrews  should  marry, 
which  would  unalterably  fix  her  fate,  she  felt  it  would  be 
the  extreme  of  rashness  to  take  her  own  life  ;  but  now 
that  Agnes  had  been  lawfully  taken  to  his  bed  and  board, 
she  was  resolved  to  leave  a  world  which  was  all  sin  and 
darkness  to  her. 

She  had  written  a  touching  note  to  Andrews,  begging 
him  to  call  at  her  rooms,  which  he  replied  to,  granting 
her  request ;  and  she  was  now  momentarily  expecting 
him.  As  she  sat  beside  a  table  reading,  the  door  slowly 
opened,  and  young  Andrews  gravely  entered. 


THE    TKITTMPH    OF    GENITTS.  201 

On  beholding  him  Ida  fainted  :  he  advanced  towards 
her  with  a  tumbler  of  iced  water  and  dashed  it  in  her  face, 
at  the  same  time  unloosening  her  dress,  and  applying  fric- 
tion to  her  body.  He  finally  succeeded  in  restoring  entire 
consciousness,  when,  perceiving  the  state  of  her  mind,  he 
imprinted  an  affectionate  kiss  on  her  pale  lips  and  im- 
plored her  to  be  cheerful  and  happy,  at  the  same  time 
seating  himself  in  a  chair  beside  her. 

"  Happy  !  ah,  sir  ;  Agnes  Farriday  has  made  that  im- 
possible. How  could  you  have  wronged  me  so  ?  " 

"  Ida,  look  me  in  the  eye,"  returned  the  young  man,  in 
a  soft,  but  firm  tone,  "  and  say,  if  I  have  not  been  all  to 
you  I  ever  promised." 

"  Promised  !  "  reiterated  Ida,  '  her  eyes  pleading  '  softly 
for  her.  "  You  have  never  promised  anything,  but  you 
have  known  how  much  I  loved  you,  and  how  entirely  my 
happiness  depended  on  being  wedded  to  you." 

"  Yes,  this  is  true,"  rejoined  Andrews,  solemnly, 
"  but  I  warned  you  against  this  state  of  feeling,  which 
I  have  never  encouraged  either  by  word  or  deed,  —  the 
fault  is  entirely  yours  if  my  love  for  Agnes  Farriday  gives 
you  pain." 

"  I  could  not  control  my  feelings,"  rejoined  Ida,  weep- 
ing ;  "  God  knows  I  could  not.  I  have  endeavored  in 
every  possible  way  to  do  so,  by  various  means  ;  by  en- 
deavoring to  become  interested  in  others  ;  by  mixing  in 
the  gayeties  of  life,  and  even  in  its  most  childish  follies  ; 
but  all  that  I  have  done,  all  that  I  can  do,  will  never, 
never  displace  from  my  mind  your  virtues,  I  so  much 
adore." 

"  Oh,  how  wrong,  how  very  wrong,  Ida,  to  permit  your- 
self to  love  an  earthly  object  so  passionately,  to  whom 
you  are  entirely  unsuited,  and  who  is  now  wedded  to 
another.  Be  rational  —  do  be  rational,"  replied  he. 

"  I  know  I  do  very  wrong  in  thus  loving  you,  sir,  but 
I  cannot  help  it,  no,  I  cannot,  indeed.  You  are  so  virtu- 
ous and  so  noble  !  "  responded  Ida,  in  tears. 

"  Perhaps  more  so  in  your  imagination  than  in  reality," 
returned  William.  "  Be  assured  the  world  contains  many 
a  better  man  than  I,  and  you  have  only  to  seek  them  out 
to  find  them." 

9* 


202  THE    PENKIMANS;    OK, 

"  Well,  it  may  be  so,"  rejoined  Ida,  "  yet  I  cannot  go 
back  to  youth  again  and  form  the  interest  in  any  one,  I 
take  in  you  ;  this  is  impossible.  I  love  you  devotedly  ; 
other  men,  however  meritorious  they  may  be,  I  can  but 
respect." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  the  cause  of  so  much  pain  to  you, 
I  am,  indeed,"  rejoined  Andrews.  "  The  bitterest  cup  I 
have  yet  had  in  life  to  drain,  is  this  ill-starred  affection 
you  entertain  for  me.  Why,  oh,  why  was  I  born  to  make 
you  thus  miserable."  As  he  concluded,  the  tears  ran 
copiously  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Do  not  weep,  sir ;  "  replied  Ida,  tenderly.  "  I  will 
try  and  overcome  my  misery  ;  for  your  sake,  yes,  love,  for 
your  dear  sake ;  "  and  as  she  said  this,  she  placed  her 
arms  about  the  young  man's  neck  and  kissed  him  fer- 
vently. 

"  You  know,  Ida,  how  wrong  it  would  have  been  for 
me,  not  finding  in  you  the  being  my  soul  craved,  to  have 
taken  you  to  wife ;  "  returned  Andrews,  fixing  his  most 
expressive  eyes  on  the  lady.  "  What  could  have  com- 
pensated for  this  want  of  harmony,  to  be  transmitted  to 
our  children ! !  Who  can  calculate  the  infelicity  attend- 
ing the  want  of  perfect  adaptation  of  one  to  the  other  in 
connubial  love.  Think,  oh  think  of  it,  Ida,  and  be  satis- 
fied with  matters  as  they  now  stand." 

"  I  am  sure  time  would  have  assimilated  us  complete- 
ly;'' rejoined  Ida.  "My  love  was  and  is  capable  of 
moulding  me  into  any  form  pleasurable  to  you." 

"  I  doubt  it  not ;  "  returned  Andrews,  "  but  your  love 
could  not  have  supplied  what  was  entirely  foreign  to  your 
scope;  now  do  you  understand  me." 

"  I  think  I  do  ;  "  returned  Ida,  wo  fully  dejected  ;  "  I 
think  I  do ;  but,  I  cannot  understand  what  more  is  within 
the  scope  of  Miss  Farriday,  than  there  is  in  mine.'" 

"  She  has  a  hardier  nature  than  yours,  and  is  much  bet- 
ter fitted  for  the  stern  life  I  have  marked  out  for  myself 
than  you  are  ;  "  here,  he  paused  for  a  moment,  and  ob- 
serving Ida  considering  his  words  thoughtfully,  thus  pro- 
ceeded ;  "  Agnes  is  thoroughly  adapted  to  my  requirements 
—  my  necessities.  You  should  marry  a  man  whose  path 
in  life  is  not  a  stormy  one,  because  such  a  man  you  could 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GEXIUS.  203 

sustain,  and  with  such  a  man  you  would  be  happy ;  but 
with  me  you  would  never  be  happy.  You  would  feel 
yourself  a  burden  to  me,  not  a  support ;  and  you  certainly 
would  not  be  able  to  find  joy  where  you  were  aware  of 
incompetence.  This,  Ida,  is  a  too,  too  practical  life ;  we 
must  not  trifle  with  its  necessities.  Those  only  should 
marry  who  are  thoroughly  qualified  to  assist  each  other  to 
the  best  advantage." 

"  I  admit  you  speak  sensibly,"  returned  Ida ;  "  you 
never  speak  else ;  but  I  cannot  forgive  Agnes  for  thus 
cutting  short  my  hopes." 

"Blame  her  not,"  returned  he  earnestly; "many  times 
has  she  said,  *  I  am  so  sorry  for  Ida.  Willingly  would  I 
give  place  to  her,  with  your  permission : ' —  no,  no,  blame 
not  Agnes  —  blame  me  —  me." 

For  some  moments  both  were  silent ;  Ida's  head  reclin- 
ing on  William's  shoulder ;  the  eyes  of  both  were  tearful, 
and  each  sighed  deeply. 

"  'Tis  hard  to  think,  I  shall  never  in  this  life  share 
your  confidence,  as  Agnes  does;  "  remarked  Ida,  mourn- 
fully ;  "  yes,  very  hard.  She  does  not,  she  cannot  love 
you  more  than  /." 

"I  question  not  your  affection,"  returned  Andrews, 
"  no,  no  ;  I  know  you  believe  yourself  devotedly  attached 
to  me,  aud  I  will  reward  you  to  the  extent  of  the  most 
sincere  and  spiritual  friendship ;  beyond  that,  however,  I 
am  not  at  liberty  to  go." 

"Oh,  that  Agnes  Farridaj  !  "  exclaimed  Ida,  rising  from 
her  chair,  and  with  a  wild  look  confronting  Andrews. 
"  I  feel  my  brain  on  fire  !  What  to  do  I  know  not,  for 
relief.  I  feel  'tis  threatened  madness  —  madness  —  mad- 
ness ;  oh,  God,  what  a  heat  oppresses  my  poor  brain  !" 

As  she  concluded  she  fell  heavily  into  a  chair  and  bur- 
ied her  head  in  her  hands,  weeping  pitifully.  Our  hero 
was  much  disturbed,  as  he  plainly  saw  the  mind  of  the 
lady  was  much  unsettled,  clearly  indicated  by  the  fiery 
and  dilated  eye.  He  went  to  her  and  bending  over  her 
body,  pushed  the  ringlets  from  her  cheeks,  and  kissing 
her  fervently,  said : 

"  Do  not  sorrow  thus  ;  you  know  so  long  as  you  shall 
live,  my  friendship  will  endure,  and  that  you  will  never 


204  THE    PENNIMANS. 

be  in  want  of  a  kind,  sincere  protector,  whilst  I  shall 
live." 

**  That  cursed  woman  !  "  exclaimed  Ida,  "  God  will  j  udge 
her.  Away,  away,  sir  ;  you  are  hers —  not  mine.'' 

As  she  spoke  these  words  she  rose  from  the  chair,  and 
pushing  Andrews  violently  from  her  walked  towards  the 
door,  which  she  locked  and  put  the  key  in  her  pocket. 
Then  turning  towards  the  young  man,  she  cried  with  an 
air  of  triumph,  and  with  a  maniac  gaze, — "Oh,  I  have 
you  at  last ;  would  I  had  that  Farriday  here,  that  I  might 
despatch  you  both  at  once." 

The  young  man  was  greatly  alarmed  at  the  lady's  man- 
ner, and  feared  she  in  reality  meditated  some  violence  to 
his  person,  for  it  was  evident  she  was  quite  irresponsible. 
He,  therefore,  watched  her  closely,  and  whenever  he  could 
do  so  to  advantage,  he  caressed  her  with  kisses.  She 
abused  him,  however,  shamefully ;  she  slapped  and  also 
spit  in  his  face,  several  times. 

**  You  are  a  wretch  !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  you  have  grossly 
deceived  me  ;  and  as  for  Agnes  Farriday,  God  will  yet 
punish  her  in  the  manner  she  deserves." 

"  Do  not  talk  so  loud,  Ida,  for  Heaven's  sake,"  coun- 
selled the  young  man,  "  or  persons  on  the  street  will  collect 
about  the  house,  suspicious  of  some  one  being  murdered." 

"  And  let  them  collect ;  "  shouted  Ida,  her  countenance 
indicating  a  mind  greatly  disturbed,  "  I  will  speak,  who- 
ever hears  me.  You  are  a  villain,  sir  —  a  most  hateful 
villain,  to  prefer  a  wanton  to  me  ;  such  treatment  has 
driven  me  mad  —  mad  —  mad  !  " 

At  these  wild  words,  she  opened  the  door  and  dashed 
out  of  the  room. 

"  Oh,  God !  exclaimed  young  Andrews,  "  how  incom- 
prehensible thy  decrees.  Restore,  I  beseech  thee,  this 
unfortunate  woman  to  peace  and  happiness  again  —  for 
my  sake,  for  her  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  thy  dear  Son, 
Christ,  our  Lord  and  Master,  who  died  that  we  thy  way- 
ward creatures  might  have  eternal  life  !  " 

As  he  concluded  this  supplication  to  Heaven,  his  whole 
body  trembled  with  grief,  and  with  an  eye  of  profound 
sorrow  and  a  cheek  blanched  with  emotion,  he  strode 
slowly  from  the  room,  muttering  — 

"  What  a  pang  is  pride  —  when  humbled." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

,         "  The  old  man  winced  and  walked  away." 

ANDREWS  rapidly  rose  at  the  bar,  and  Agnes  was  of 
great  assistance  to  him,  even  in  the  severe,  trying  duties 
of  his  profession.  She  was  a  woman  of  uncommon  men- 
tal power,  with  an  intellect  remarkably  subtle  and  keen, 
which  she  delighted  to  exercise  in  the  vagaries  and  thin 
distinctions  of  law.  Her  husband  had  just  made  another 
triumph,  in  a  most  important  civil  action,  which  involved 
the  sum  of  8100,000.  Agnes  was  overjoyed  at  his  suc- 
cess, as  she  had  aided  him  in  preparing  the  case. 

Our  hero,  though  greatly  pleased  to  have  won,  was 
altogether  unmoved  by  his  success.  Indeed,  he  was  never 
elated  at  any  time ;  but  always  calm  and  of  a  subdued 
manner.  His  remarkable  powers  as  an  orator  and  shrewd 
lawyer  were  now  generally  admitted,  and  his  acquaintance 
was  sought  by  the  first  men  of  the  city.  He  had  become 
a  marked  man,  and  was  pointed  at  by  those  who  knew 
him,  as  a  triumphant  genius. 

One  day  he  chanced  to  be  standing  on  the  corner  of 
a  great  thoroughfare,  where  he  was  engaged  in  talking 
with  Mr.  McAlpin  senior,  on  some  law  business.  Old  Pen- 
niman  happened  at  that  time  to  pass  by,  and  not  observing 
Mr.  Andrews,  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  McAlpin. 
The  moment  his  eye  caught  that  of  Andrews,  his  counte- 
nance turned  pale,  and  his  frame  seemed  to  tremble  with 
passion.  The  young  man  met  his  emotions  with  a  smile, 
and  remarked  pleasantly,  — 

"  You  scarcely  ever  believed  Mr.  Penniman,  that  the 
musician's  son  would  beat  you  thus  in  law,  —  the  son  of 
a  fiddler  !  did  you,  sir  ?  —  Oh,  no." 

"I  —  I  —  I  —  I  am  not— /'returned  Penniman,  choking 


206  THE    PEHNIMANS  ;    OB, 

with  rage.  "  I  have  money  enough,  sir,  to  buy  up  a  dozen 
such  fellows  as  you." 

"  No,  sir,  you  are  mistaken ;  you  have  not  money  enough 
to  buy  a  finger  of  me,"  responded  Andrews.  "  The  business 
of  my  lite,  sir,  is,  not  to  be  bought  by,  but  to  serve  when- 
ever an  opportunity  offers,  against  you.  You  have  felt 
me  once  —  you  may  feel  me  again.  You  have  yet  to  learn, 
sir,  that  there  is  something  in  this  world,  even  above 
wealth." 

His  keen,  penetrating,  brilliant  large  eyes,  were  fixed 
on  old  Penniman,  as  he  spoke  in  his  slow  marked  manner. 
The  old  man  was  quite  uneasy,  under  their  glance,  and 
looked  in  every  direction,  but  into  the  young  man's  face. 
He  growled  something  to  the  effect,  that  he  did  not  care 
a  d — n,  and  passed  on  towards  State  Street.  But  he  did 
care  much  more  than  he  was  willing  to  concede,  for  he 
felt  in  Andrews  he  had  a  foe,  whom  any  man  might  fear ; 
and  he  knew,  too,  that  he  was  a  foe  who  would  give  him 
no  quarter,  since  he  had  treated  him  in  a  manner  calcu- 
lated to  embitter  his  feelings,  and  to  excite  the  most  de- 
termined spirit  of  revenge. 

Here  was  a  parvenu  of  the  first  water  trembling  before 
the  genius  of  a  soul  he  had  presumed  to  cast  aside,  as  too 
plebeian  for  his  daughter ;  whilst  McAlpin,  whom  he  was 
only  too  well  pleased  to  receive  as  a  son-in-law,  was  a 
sot,  a  libertine,  and  from  whom  his  wife  had  threatened  to 
separate.  Successful  genius  on-  the  one  hand,  calm  and 
confident  in  its  own  powers  ;  arrogant  worthlessness  on  the 
other,  with  habits  formed  to  the  requirements  of  wine  and 
women. 

These  Pennimans  had  married,  as  they  thought,  their 
daughter  well,  because  the  McAlpins  were  a  truly  aristo- 
cratic family,  whilst  the  Andrews  were  only  mere  artists  ; 
as  though  the  soul  of  an  artist  may  not  be  in  every  re- 
spect as  respectable,  and  as  near  and  dear  to  the  Father 
of  all,  as  that  of  a  lawyer  or  a  merchant.  But  there  are 
those  ever  making  such  mistakes,  forgetting  that  "  though 
many  are  in  high  places,  and  of  renown,  yet  mysteries  are 
revealed  unto  the  meek."  And  again,  "  extol  not  thyself 
in  the  counsel  of  thine  own  heart ;  that  thy  soul  be  not 
torn  in  pieces,  as  a  bull  straying  alone.  Thou  shalt  eat 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  207 

up  thy  leaves,  and  lose  thy  fruit,  and  leave  thyself  as  a 
dry  tree." 

Agnes,  whom  the  Pennimans  had  so  much  abused,  had 
been  received  into  the  society  of  some  of  the  very  best 
and  oldest  families,  and  had  been  justly  admired  for  her 
brilliant  wit,  her  gorgeous  beauty,  and  the  romance  of  her 
life.  She  was  beloved  as  well  as  admired.  The  reports 
which  had  been  circulated  to  her  disparagement  were  no 
longer  credited  by  those  whose  privilege  it  was  to  meet 
her  in  society,  and  to  enjoy  her  fascinating  conversation. 
Her  noble  presence  —  her  sweet  face  in  particular  —  in 
themselves  were  a  refutation  of  the  base  calumnies  cur- 
rent. She  needed  no  other  defenders.  It  was  a  question 
often  asked,  to  what  family  Agnes  Farriday,  now  Mrs. 
Andrews,  belonged ;  by  no  means  an  uncommon  curiosity 
when  one  comes  prominently  before  the  public. 

Agnes,  as  we  have  said,  resided  with  her  mother  in  a 
small  house  opposite  to  that  wherein  lodged  the  beggar, 
Throckmorton ;  and  it  was  here  that  Andrews  first  saw 
her ;  nor  did  he  ever  forget  that  intelligent  and  lovely 
face.  Agnes  was  the  daughter  of  a  Captain  Farriday,  of 
Calcutta,  and  of  a  Mrs.  Jane  E.  Bowman,  of  London. 
The  captain  had  been  wealthy,  and  was  one  of  the  most 
prominent  and  respectable  families  in  Calcutta,  his 
father  having  filled  a  high  post  in  the  English  army.  Mrs. 
Bowman  was  highly  connected  in  London,  and  had  the 
best  blood  of  England  in  her  veins.  Her  maiden  name 
was  Jane  Howard ;  she  married  a  Mr.  Bowman,  a  wealthy 
merchant  of  Calcutta,  who  died  from  grief  and  mortifica- 
tion in  consequence  of  bankruptcy.  By  him  she  had  three 
children.  Captain  Farriday,  in  the  employ  of  Bowman, 
fell  in  love  with  the  widow,  and  Agnes  was  the  issue 
of  their  marriage.  After  the  death  of  Captain  Farri- 
day, his  widow  with  Agnes  left  Calcutta  for  London,  and 
was  wrecked  off  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  After  several 
days  of  suffering,  they  were  picked  up  floating  on  a  plank, 
by  an  American  vessel  bound  for  Boston,  where  they  were 
landed  in  safety,  and  in  consequence  of  small  means  were 
obliged  to  live  in  an  humble  manner. 

Agnes,  at  the  age  of  seventeen  lost  her  mother,  just  as 
she  was  about  to  go  to  England.  Since  when,  the  daughter 


208  THE    PENNIMANS. 

iad  been  actively  engaged  up  to  the  period  of  her  ac- 
quaintance with  Andrews,  in  administering  to  the  wants 
«f  the  worthy  poor,  and  in  befriending  those  unfortunate 
women  who  had  fallen  into  the  vice  of  prostitution,  and 
lought  deliverance  from  their  wretchedness.  She  labored 
earnestly  in  the  name  of  Christ,  and  her  work  had  been 
blessed.  Many  and  many  a  one  had  reason  to  love  Agnes 
for  the  kindness  she  had"  shown  them.  This  is  in  brief  the 
history  of  the  wife  of  William  Andrews,  in  comparison 
to  which  a  Nelly  Penniman,  Julia  Touchmenot,  (now  Mrs. 
Sampsone,  travelling  in  Europe,)  and  all  such  pretensions 
sink  into  utter  insignificance. 

On  one  or  two  occasions  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Andrews  had 
met  in  society  Mrs.  Nelly  McAlpin,  but  no  recognition 
passed.  The  Pennimans  were  always  shy  of  Andrews  at 
all  times,  and  in  all  places,  and  they  shrunk  from  a  com- 
parison of  that  splendid  couple,  with  the  sot  McAlpin 
and  his  haggard  wife.  Nelly,  although  she  did  not  per- 
mit Mr.  Andrews  to  catch  her  eye,  frequently  looked  at 
him  most  tenderly,  for  she  loved  him  dearly,  and  ever  had 
an  affection  for  him,  —  she  felt  not  for  any  other  man. 

Agnes  with  her  quick  eye  and  penetrating  intellect,  de- 
tected this  interest  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  McAlpin  for  her  hus- 
band ;  but  she  was  not  jealous;  the  feeling  was  rather  one 
of  pity  than  of  jealousy.  Nelly  hated  Agnes  as  she  loved 
her  noble  husband,  with  whom  every  one  was  charmed,  for 
his  manners  were  so  frank,  and  his  smile  so  soft  and  sweet, 
he  conquered  even  the  malignity  of  his  enemies.  Even 
Mrs.  Penniman  was  compelled  to  admit  the  elegance  of 
his  address ;  so  too  were  all  others  who  had  been  his  tra- 
ducers.  He  stood  a  monarch  among  them,  and  compelled 
respect ;  he  had  at  last  o'ertopp'd  snobbery,  and  borne  it 
down  like  a  reed,  having  literally  fulfilled  the  charge  of 
his  father,  "  to  let  his  virtues  be  his  revenge." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  But  wrapt  in  error  is  the  human  mind, 

And  human  bliss  is  ever  insecure, 
Know  we  what  fortune  yet  remains  behind? 

Know  we  how  long  the  present  shall  endure  ?  " 

THE  Pennimans,  who  for  a  long  time  had  held  their 
heads  excessively,  and  we  may  add,  insufferably  high, 
were  moderating  their  proud  and  offensive  spirit  most 
materially ;  and  certainly  if  a  family  ever  had  cause  to 
feel  abashed,  it  was  the  Pennimans,  with  their  worthless 
sons-in-law,  whom  they  had  been  to  a  great  deal  of  pains 
to  secure,  three  of  whom  were  bar-room  sots,  and  horse 
jockeys,  without  the  least  influence  among  reputable  citi- 
zens. Such  were  the  sons-in-law  of  Mrs.  Penniman,  who 
had  been  to  so  much  trouble  to  marry  her  daughters  into 
the  first  families  —  none  but  the  very  first  young  men  would 
satisfy  her  ambition.  Whereas,  William  Andrews,  with 
his  fine  prospects  for  fame,  and  his  already  enviable  repu- 
tation as  a  lawyer,  together  with  the  attention  he  received 
on  all  sides,  was  a  pattern  of  virtue !  All  his  relations 
with  life  were  honorable  and  successful.  Nothing  so  ill- 
affected  Mrs.  Penniman  as  this.  And  to  see,  too,  "  a 
common  woman,"  as  she  termed  Agnes,  rise  into  favor,  so 
far  beyond  any  consideration  her  daughters  had  enjoyed, 
was  an  additional  sorrow  which  so  preyed  upon  her  mind, 
that  the  hairs  of  her  head  were  fast  turning  gray,  and  her 
features  hard  and  hateful.  It  was  customary  for  Mrs. 
Penniman  to  put  on  a  great  many  airs,  and  when  in  com- 
pany to  assume  a  peculiarity  of  manner  which  is  intended 
to  convey  the  idea  of  aristocracy ;  but  Mrs.  Penniman 
had  strangely  altered  in  this  regard,  and  her  mind  seemed 
occupied  with  something  else  less  pleasing  than  one's  con- 
sequence —  something  that  was  most  bitter,  and  dashed 
her  spirits.  She  felt  she  had  not  attaiaed  what  she  had 
struggled  with  all  her  energies  to  acquire,  viz.,  high  posi- 


210  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

tion  for  her  children.  She  had  married  them,  it  is  true,  to 
the  "Jirst  young  men,"  but  it  unfortunately  turned  out 
that  they  were  first  in  the  opinion  of  no  person  whose 
opinion  was  worth  having ;  and  now  alas  !  she  had  been 
made  sensible  of  this  when  too  late  to  remedy  the  error, 
and  the  evil. 

It  was  evening ;  —  the  drawing-room  of  the  Pennimans 
was  brilliantly  lighted.  Mrs.  McAlpin  sat  at  the  piano, 
playing  that  exquisite  piece,  "  The  heart  bowed  down  by 
weight  of  woe,"  when  Mrs.  Donpthing  entered,  looking 
very  much  disconcerted  and  extremely  pale.  She  imme- 
diately burst  into  tears. 

"Why,  Susy,  what  is  the  matter;  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  !"  exclaimed  Nelly.  "  Another  nervous  attack  ? 
One  would  think  you  had  lost  all  your  friends." 

"  And  so  I  have,"  bawled  Mrs.  Donothing.  "  I  don't 
think  I've  one  true  friend  in  the  world." 

"  Why,  how  foolish,"  returned  Nelly,  "  you  certainly 
have  a  friend  in  your  husband,  if  in  no  one  else." 

" He  a  friend,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Donothing,  —  "a 
pretty  friend,  to  be  sure;  I've  just  been  obliged  to 
leave  the  house  in  consequence  of  his  abuse.  He  is 
most  all  the  time  under  the  excitement  of  wine,  and  I 
get  from  him  more  ill-nature  than  I  can  stand." 

"  Oh,  you  are  green ;  I  see  where  the  trouble  is,"  re- 
sponded Nelly.  "  He  is  no  worse  a  case  than  McAlpin, 
yet  I  manage  to  get  along  with  him  in  peace,  though  I 
must  say  he  is  a  great  trial  —  at  times  it  is  just  about  as 
much  as  I  can  do  to  keep  the  track.  My  rule  is  never  to 
reprove  him  when  he  is  '  out  of  sorts,'  but  to  put  it  on 
early  in  the  morning,  when  he  first  awakes  ;  that's  the 
time  for  a  wife  to  make  herself  felt  —  to  be  of  any  in- 
fluence over  a  gay  and  headstrong  husband.  Mark  me, 
Susy,  I  tell  you  I  am  right." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  are,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Donothing, 
weeping  pitifully  ;  "  but  I  am  so  nervous  and  completely 
broken  down  by  that  man's  dissipation,  I  dont  know  half 
the  time  what  I  am  about.  I  shall  never  be  a  healthy 
woman  again. 

*'  Never  mind,  Sue,  never  mind,  make  the  best  of  it," 
rejoined  Nelly.  "  You  don't  have  a  much  harder  time 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENITTS.  211 

with  Jerry  than  I  do  with  Jim.  The  fact  is,  high  life  is 
in  the  McAlpin  family  ;  his  uncle  died  of  too  much  li- 
quor. James  has  worn  me  down  to  a  mere  shadow  ;  my 
dresses  once  too  small  for  me  are  now  too  loose  ;  this  you 
see  is  evidence  that  I  have  lost  flesh." 

"  Who  would  not  lose  flesh  with  two  such  trials,"  said 
Mrs.  Donothing.  "  If  /  have  not  suffered  enough  in  this 
workl,  I  should  like  to  know  who  has.  And  yet  people 
envy  us." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  are  plenty  of  girls  who  would  be  per- 
fectly willing  to  take  our  hard  husbands  with  our  houses," 
replied  Nelly,  bitterly.  "  I  tell  you  we  are  thought  to  be 
most  favored  by  fortune,  tough  as  we  may  think  our  lot." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  who  there  can  be  so  base  as 
to  envy  us,  knowing  what  we  have  to  endure  from  our 
husbands,"  replied  Mrs.  Donothing. 

"  Oh,  but  you  see,  they  don't  exactly  know,"  rejoined 
Nelly,  "and  if  they  did,  I  am  not  sure  it  would  make  any 
difference  with  them  ;  they  think  so  much  of  style,  the 
fools !  How  different  everything  has  turned  out  from 
what  we  expected.  There's  Andrews,  how  he  has  come 
up  ;  and  Agnes  Farriday,  only  think  of  such  a  woman, 
receiving  the  attention  that  she  does  from  our  very  best 
families.  Persons  who  would  never  have  thought  of 
noticing  them  two  years  ago,  now  can't  do  half  enough 
for  them.  There  are  the  Yellowbodies,  for  instance,  and 
the  Inconceivables,  the  Blowhards,  and  numbers  of  others, 
both  of  and  not  of  our  set,  who  think  there  is  nobody  so 
charming  as  Mr.  Andrews,  and  Agnes  his  wife." 

"  It  is  the  way  the  world  goes,  I  find,"  replied  Mrs.  Do- 
nothing,  u  which  I  suppose  we  must  go  along  with  whether 
we  will  or  no." 

"  For  my  part,"  returned  Nelly,  "  I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
don't  keep  up  with  the  times.  James  is  in  a  consump- 
tion, and  can't  live  a  great  while  longer  ;  if  ever  I  get 
caught  by  a  fast  young  man  again,  I  will  give  you  and  all 
others  leave  to  laugh  at  me  as  much  as  you  please." 

"  The  probability  is  you  will  be  laughed  at  without 
leave,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Donothing,  "  but  there  is  husband 
at  home,  tight  as  he  can  be,  and  what  to  do  I  know  not. 
The  servants  won't  do  a  thing  for  him  ;  and  he  is  so  mad 
with  me,  I  am  afraid  to  go  near  him." 


212  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OR, 

ft 

"  Come,  I  will  go  with  you,"  returned  Mrs.  McAlpin  ; 
"  I  was  waiting  here  for  mother,  who  is  calling  on  one  of 
the  neighbors.  1  want  to  see  her  very  much  ;  but  I  will 
go  home  with  you  and  then  return,  or,  if  it  should  be  too 
late,  I  can  come  around  to-morrow. 

"  Do  come  with  me,  Nelly ;  I  am  so  nervous,  I  dare  not 
return  alone.  You  don't  know  how  nervous  I  am,  my 
brain  is  tremulous,  and  my  ideas  are  in  a  state  of  con- 
fusion." 

"  Certainly  I  will  go  with  you.  I  think  both  of  us  can 
manage  him.  Oh  !  headstrong  husbands,  —  what  a  per- 
fect bore  they  are." 

Nelly  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and  hastened 
with  her  sister,  Mrs.  Donothing,  to  her  home.  They 
had  been  gone  only  a" few  minutes  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Penniman  came  into  the  house.  They  had  changed 
materially  in  their  appearance  since  we  first  presented 
them  to  the  reader.  Old  Penniman  had  grown  thinner 
and  his  face  was  even  more  repulsive  than  formerly  ;  it 
was  as  hard  as  a  stone,  and  sour  as  vinegar.  There  was 
not  a  ray  of  humanity  in  it ;  and  Mrs.  Penniman  likewise 
had  a  visage,  which  gave  the  impression  of  a  soul  desti- 
tute of  all  the  nobler  sentiments.  Penniman  had  lost  a 
great  deal  of  money  lately  in  various  ways,  and  this,  to- 
gether with  the  conduct  of  his  sons-in-law,  who  spent 
large  sums  of  money  without  earning  a  dollar,  kept  his 
mind  in  a  state  of  constant  worriment.  And  then,  too,  he 
could  not  divest  it  of  the  notion  that  he  would  die  poor. 
This  was  ever  present  to  him,  when  he  awoke  and  when 
he  laid  down  to  sleep.  His  wife  did  all  she  could  to  dis- 
possess him  of  such  an  idea,  but  in  vain  ;  he  harped  the 
more  on  it,  the  more  she  endeavored  to  calm  his  mind. 

The  truth  is,  this  old  Shylock  as  well  as  his  wife  and 
children,  had  been  living  without  God  in  the  world,  and 
they  were,  therefore,  without  the  consolation  the  Bible 
affords  those  who  believe  in  and  make  it  a  rule  of  action. 
"  That  peace  of  mind  which  passe th  all  understanding," 
they  knew  nothing  of;  indeed,  they  had  no  conception  of 
such  happiness. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Penniman,  who  had  seated  her- 
Belf  in  a  rocking  chair,  "  I  can't  help  it,  if  you  will  keep 


THE    TRIUMPH    OP    GENIUS.  213 

up  this  incessant  talk  about  our  coming  to  poverty,  to 
poverty  I  suppose  we  must  go  ;  but  really,  it  is  a  disease, 
my  dear,  you  ought  to  strive  to  overcome  it.  Only  think 
how  you  would  be  laughed  at  by  all  our  friends,  if  they 
knew  of  your  talk." 

"Friends?  eh!  we've  got  no  friends,"  muttered  old 
Penniman,  from  between  his  teeth  ;  no  —  no  friends  ! 
And  as  to  our  sons-in-law,  whom  you  were  so  anxious  to 
secure  for  our  girls,  why,  they  are  our  worst  enemies  ! 
d — n  them  !  they've  disgraced  themselves  and  us.  Think 
—  only  think,  what  a  match  Nelly  and  Andrews  would 
have  been ;  why  that  young  man  will  go  to  Congress  yet ; 
he  will  be  one  of  the  first  statesmen  in  the  country." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  have  fore- 
seen what  he  would  come  to,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Penniman  ; 
"  who  ever  thought  of  his  being  a  successful  lawyer  — 
whoever  thought  of  such  a  thing ;  you  know  how  plebeian 
his  family,  in  comparison  to  McAlpin's." 

"  D — n  all  such  notions  !  1  am  getting  tired  of  them," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Penniman.  "  It  is  my  opinion  that  a  smart 
young  man  is  always  of  the  highest  respectability.  You 
knew  very  well  that  Andrews  was  unusually  smart,  for  I 
have  heard  you  say  so." 

"  That  is  all  very  true,"  replied  Mrs.  Penniman ;  "  I 
can't,  however,  endure  plebeains,  no  matter  how  smart  they 
may  be.  I  want  none  but  the  best  born  people  connected 
with  me." 

"  Well,  I  have  only  to  say  such  are  devilish  expensive 
people,"  replied  the  husband;  "and  much  more  fond  of 
squandering  away  time,  than  being  honestly  and  pfofit- 
ably  employed." 

"  And  how  long  since  you  found  that  out,  pray  ?  "  in- 
terrogated Mrs.  Penniman  sarcastically. 

"  You  have  come  down  a  good  deal  in  your  tone  of 
late.  It  will  be  well  for  us,  if  we  have  a  house  over  our 
heads  in  six  months,"  rejoined  the  husband,  sharply. 

"  Nonsense  !  what  a  fool  you  are,"  returned  the  wife, 
evidently  disturbed  at  the  remark.  "  You  are  the  greatest 
fool  I  know  of.  If  we  had  all  the  wealth  of  the  Roths- 
childs, you  would  forever  be  talking  about  coming  to 
want.  Don't  —  don't,  for  Godsake,  be  so  blue,  continually  ; 


214  THE    PENNIMANSJ    OB, 

I  shall  get  to  be  as  bad  as  yourself,  if  you  persist  in  this 
gloomy  mood.  Come,  get  up,  and  go  off  to  the  club. 
Here,  take  your  hat,  and  go  either  there,  or  to  the 
theatre  —  go  somewhere  for  a  laugh,  if  it's  at  a  dance- 
house  on  the  hill.  Do,  when  you  come  home,  bring  with 
you  a  smile." 

Old  Penniman  took  his  hat,  and  giving  the  vinegar 
visage  of  his  wife  a  brush  with  his  hand  playfully,  passed 
out  into  the  street,  and  thence  made  his  way  to  the  club- 
room,  where  he  seated  himself  at  whist  with  a  party  who 
were  as  wealthy  and  miserable  as  himself.  Mrs.  Penni- 
man was  about  to  retire  to  her  bed-chamber,  when  the 
door-bell  rang,  and  a  party  consisting  of  Mrs.  Catchpenny, 
Mrs.  Touchmenot,  and  the  Blowhards,  entered  the  house. 
The  Catchpennys  and  Touchmenots,  though  for  a  time 
estranged  by  young  Andrews'  wit,  had  come  again  to 
terms  of  amity.  Mrs.  Penniman  was  not  a  little  vexed 
at  their  visit,  as  she  was  in  no  very  pleasant  frame  of  mind. 

"Really,  Mrs.  Penniman,  I  was  charmed  last  night  at 
the  opera,"  said  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  with  a  toss  of  the 
head  ;  "  quite  charmed  ;  wasn't  you,  Mrs.  Penniman  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  I  was ;  "  replied  Mrs.  Penniman; 
"  for  my  head  felt  the  whole  time  as  though  it  would 
burst." 

"  Oh,  I  regret  that  exceedingly,  my  dear  Mrs.  Penni- 
man," said  Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  You  do  not  this  evening 
appear  at  all  well.  I  suppose  the  losses  of  your  husband 
distresses  you." 

"  The  losses  of  my  husband  !  "  reiterated  Mrs.  Penni- 
man. "  Why  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  We  met  Mr.  Gaseous  as  we  came  along,  and  he  in- 
formed us  that  some  one  informed  him  that  your  husband 
had  lost  heavily,  and  that  his  credit  would  suffer  seriously 
at  the  Banks,  and  in  fact,  everywhere" 

"  Well,'.'  replied  Mrs.  Penniman,  "  I  am  quite  recon- 
ciled to  God's  will  in  all  things  —  at  least  I  try  to  be. 
But  of  this  I  know  nothing  at  all  —  our  vile  enemies  are 
at  work  —  it  is  all  lies  —  lies  —  lies  —  and  who  is  not 
lied  about  of  any  pretensions  whatever  —  above  the  rab- 
ble, the  dirty  rabble  !  " 

"That's  just  my  feeling,  precisely,"  said  Mrs.  Touch- 


THE    THIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  215 

menot ;  "  I've  no  wish  to  leave  this  world,  none  what- 
ever." 

Mrs.  Touchmenot  was  a  coarse,  vulgar  woman,  whose 
daughter  Julia,  as  we  have  already  related,  was  in  Europe 
with  her  husband,  having  a  "  delightful  time,"  as  she  in- 
formed her  mother  in  her  letters.  Mrs.  Touchmenot  had 
now  in  Europe  three  children,  of  whom  she  was  constant- 
ly talking.  These  children  had  gone  abroad  under  the 
impression  that  they  were  uncommon  characters,  and  so, 
indeed,  they  were  —  of  uncommon  weakness.  Unfortu- 
nately for  the  reputation  of  the  U.  S.,  there  are  altogether 
too  many  of  these  characters  in  Europe,  on  money  they 
do  not  know  the  value  of,  and  could  not  earn,  however 
great  their  opportunities ! 

"  Hav.e  you  heard  lately  from  your  daughter,  Mrs. 
Touchmenot  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Penniman. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  why  yes,"  responded  Mrs.  Touchmenot. 
"  Why  bless  your  soul,  we  get  letters  quite  often.  Julia 
writes  in 'fine  spirits ;  she  says  her  husband  is  called  the 
handsomest  American  in  Italy.  Some  celebrated  painter 
at  Rome  has  requested  him  to  sit  for  his  portrait  —  for 
half  the  price  he  would  charge  all  others.  We  think  this 
a  great  compliment,  a  very  great  honor,  indeed,  Mrs.  Pen- 
niman ;  for  you  must  know,  at  Rome,  a  great  artist  does 
a  great  thing,  when  he  works  for  half  price.  Sampsone 
is  to  be  painted  in  full,  in  his  dressing  gown  and  slippers, 
with  his  neck  bare,  that  the  head  may  appear  to  the  best 
advantage.  I  have  a  place  already  selected  in  my  house 
to  put  it." 

"  1  hope  when  it  is  sent  home,"  remarked  Miss  Fanny 
Catchpenny,  "  some  one  will  pack  it  who  knows  his 
business,  so  that  it  may  not  arrive  in  the  plight  of  Mr. 
Quiddle's  statuary  —  entirely  ruined  !  in  consequence  of 
his  having  thought  it  not  worth  while  to  be  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a  pack-man." 

"  Mr.  Quiddle  is  one  of  your  penny  wise  and  pound 
foolish  gentlemen,"  retuined  Mrs.  Touchmenot,  with  a 
good  deal  of  affected  dignity,  "  after  whom  my  son  will 
not  pattern  ;  you  may  be  assured  of  that.  My  son,  Miss 
Fanny,  is  a  thorough  going  business  man,  and  knows  what 
is  what,  if  he  does  lay  abed  late  in  the  morning." 


216  THE    PENNIMANS  J     OB, 

"  Oh,  we  know  that,  Mrs.  Touchmenot,"  replied  Mrs. 
Catchpenny,  — "  We  know  that  perfectly  well.  Mr. 
Sampsone  could  not  possibly  make  any  such  mistake  as 
Mr.  Quiddle  committed.  Did  you  ever  hear  any  one  say 
that  Mr.  Andrews  resembled  your  son  ?  " 

"  What,  that  brute  resemble  my  son  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Touchmenot,  her  eyes  dilating  and  her  whole  appearance 
indicating  great  indignation.  "  I'd  burn  him  alive  if  I 
thought  so.  I  have  not  forgotten  his  infamous  conduct  — 
the  brute." 

"  Don't,  I  beg  of  you,  take  offence  Mrs.  Touchmenot," 
said  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  "  at  my  words.  I  assure  you  Mr. 
Andrews  is  thought  a  splendid  looking  man  by  everybody. 
And  you  know  how  much  attention  he  receives  from  our 
first  people  —  how  much  admired  his  wife  is  who  speaks 
three  languages,  and  is  one  of  the  most  fascinating  women 
in  society  that  we  have  had  for  many  a  day." 

"  Well,  all  this  don't  raise  them  in  my  estimation  a 
peg,"  returned  Mrs.  Touchmenot.  "They  are  the  same 
dirt  to  me  now,  as  ever." 

"  So  they  are  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Penniman,  with  evident 
satisfaction. 

Both  Mrs.  Touchmenot  and  Mrs.  Penniman  were  a  good 
deal  excited,  which  Mrs.  Catchpenny  observing,  endea- 
vored to  turn  the  conversation  ;  and  after  some  good  man- 
agement succeeded  in  restoring  a  quiet  state  of  temper. 
From  one  subject  they  passed  to  another,  abusing  soundly 
the  Atlays,  and  a  number  of  others  not  of  their  set.  In 
particular  did  the  Atlays  receive  from  the  Catchpennys  a 
severe  broadside,  in  consequence  of  Lucy's  success  in 
fascinating  Augustus  Hamilton,  for  whom  Miss  Fanny 
Catchpenny,  in  common  with  a  number  of  other  young 
ladies,  had  "  set  their  caps." 

Lucy  Atlay  was  bitterly  envied  by  the  Catchpennys, 
and,  indeed,  by,  very  many  others,  who  had  predicted  her 
destiny  to  be  that  of  old  maidenhood ;  she  would  never 
get  a  husband,  they  thought  —  "a  conceited  blue-stock- 
ing ! "  The  Inconceivables  disliked  her  particularly  be- 
cause she  spoke  French  ;  and  thought  any  man  who  would 
marry  her,  a  fool !  The  Catchpennys  were  quite  mistaken, 
as  numerous  others  of  their  character  have  been  mistaken, 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIITS.  217 

in  their  calculations,  as  to  the  chances  of  marriage  of 
those  women,  who,  instead  of  putting  themselves  in  the 
way  of  beaux,  rather  shrink  from  such  boldness,  never  for- 
getting that  true  men  —  men  who  are  worth  being  wedded 
to,  prefer  to  be  at  some  trouble  to  find  a  modest  and  un- 
presuming  lady,  than  to  have  ready  at  hand  a  forward  and 
wanton  one. 

Miss  Laura  Catchpenny  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about 
Mr.  James  McAlpin,  "  handsome  Jimmy."  She  went  even 
so  far  as  to  declare  that  he  was  a  great  favorite  of  hers, 
and  had  offered  himself  to  her  previous  to  proposing  to 
Miss  Penniman.  This  was  a  cutting  statement  to  the  ears 
of  Mrs.  Penniman,  nor  would  she  allow  herself  to  believe 
one  word  of  it ;  indeed,  her  pride  was  so  much  shocked, 
at  her  daughter  taking  up  with  a  fellow  whom  the  Catch- 
pennys  had  declined,  that  she  said  to  Miss  Catchpenny, 
evidently  much  excited,  that  her  story  could  not  be  true  ; 
that  there  must  be  some  mistake.  Miss  Catchpenny  de- 
clared that  there  was  no  mistake,  and  was  surprised  at  Mrs. 
Penniman's  incivility.  Mrs.  Catchpenny  likewise,  said, 
that  she  had  never  in  all  her  life  before  received  such 
treatment ;  as  she  considered  any  insult  offered  her  daughter 
as  personal  to  herself.  Words,  and  hot  words  flew  fast  from 
one  to  the  other,  until  things  came  to  such  a  pass,  that  the 
Catchpennys  left  the  house  in  a  violent  passion,  declaring 
their  acquaintance  with  the  Pennimans,  whom  they  always 
regarded  as  vulgar  people,  was  now  and  forever  at  an 
end. 

As  the  Catchpennys  were  no  particular  favorites  of  the 
company  who  remained,  they  now  readily  sympathized 
with  Mrs.  Penniman,  and  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that 
Nelly  was  James'  first  and  only  love.  This  tended  great- 
ly to  soothe  the  feelings  of  Mrs.  Penniman,  who  had  not 
for  a  great  length  of  time  been  so  much  disturbed,  as  on 
this  present  occasion.  There  were  few  terms  she  could 
think  of  strong  enough  to  express  her  contempt  for  these 
"  vulgar  Catchpennys,"  whom,  she  said,  were  envious  of 
everybody  who  appeared  to  enjoy  life  more  than  them- 
selves. Indeed,  she  ran  on  at  a  rapid  and  fearful  rate 
against  this  family,  whose  acquaintance  she  said  she  always 
regretted  having  made,  because  she  knew  them  to  be  of 
10 


218  THE    PEXNIMANS;    OK, 

"  bad  breed."  The  company  joined  her  in  all  she  said ; 
indeed,  Mrs.  Blowhard  was  unsparing  of  her  condemna- 
tion. 

While  matters  were  in  this  state  of  fusion,  in  walked 
Gaseous,  very  much  like  a  dancing-master,  and  quite  as 
though  he  trod  on  hot  irons.  At  the  sight  of  this  "  ador- 
able "  sweet  sir,  the  company  seemed  well  pleased,  for 
he  was  somewhat  of  a  favorite,  having  continued  to  make 
himself  agreeable  with  his  sailor  yarns,  and  his  any  quan- 
tity of  gas.  He  was  unquestionably  one  of  the  most 
gaseous  upstarts  of  the  city,  and  perhaps  no  man  walked 
the  streets  with  an  air  so  impudent,  and  a  head  so  cram- 
med with  self-esteem.  The  truth  is,  he  had  been  spoiled 
by  a  class  of  persons  who  took  him  up  by  force  of  his  assur- 
ance, and  feasted  him  until  he  fairly  grew  weary  of  at- 
tention, and  wondered  what  these  "  fools  wanted  of 
him." 

He  was  not  slow  to  join  Mrs.  Penniman  against  the 
Catchpennys,  whom  he  denounced  as  excessively  coarse 
people.  He  had  of  late  heard  it  rumored,  that  Mr.  Pen- 
niman had  met  with  great  losses  in  railroad  stock,  bank 
stock,  and  in  merchandise  ;  but  the  general  opinion  seemed 
to  be,  that  he  was  solvent,  though  by  no  means  a  wealthy 
man.  Mrs.  Penniman  had  been  informed  of  none  of  these 
rumors,  and  although  she  knew  her  husband  had  made 
heavy  losses,  she  considered  herself  quite  able  to  keep, 
and  to  ride  in  her  carriage ;  and  this  privilege  she  intend- 
ed to  enjoy  as  long  as  possible.  Gaseous  was  one  of  those 
men  who  talk  at  random,  and  consequently,  much  of  the 
time,  talked  ridiculously  ;  but  "  his  set,"  generally  speak- 
ing, were  pleased  with  his  gabble,  and  thought  him  an 
exceedingly  entertaining  person.  In  fact  this  fellow  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  an  Apollo  !  and  availed  of  all  that 
art  could  do  to  make  him  acceptable  to  the  fair  sex.  Much, 
however,  as  he  was  admired,  a  great  deal  of  fun  was 
poksd  at  him  in  a  sly  way,  of  which  he  was  not  aware. 
There  were  sensible  and  witty  women  now  and  then  with 
whom  he  would  come  in  contact,  who,  seeing  at  once  into 
his  absurdities,  laughed  heartily  in  their  sleeves. 

Mrs.  Penniman  and  her  friends  having  exhausted  all 
they  had  to  say  uncomplimentary  of  the  Catchpennys, 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  219 

and  of  several  other  families,  whom  they  believed  had 
little  or  no  respect  for  them,  partook  of  some  cake  and 
wine,  when  Mrs.  Touchmenot  was  informed  her  carriage 
was  at  the  door.  She  had  had  rather  an  exciting  evening, 
and  the  blood  had  so  freely  flowed  to  the  head,  that  her 
face  was  red  as  a  coal.  Gaseous  waited  upon  the  ladies  to 
the  carriage,  and  having  played  the  footman  to  perfection, 
returned  to  the  drawing  room  of  Mrs.  Penniman,  whom 
he  found  reclining  on  the  sofa,  complaining  of  a  severe 
headache.  He  bound  her  head  with  a  napkin  wet  with 
ice  water,  and  putting  his  arm  about  her  waist  pressed 
her  tenderly,  with  a  sigh  for  her  beating  temples.  We 
do  not  think  she  had  had  such  a  pressure  for  a  long  time. 
By  his  gracious  manner  he  came  into  great  favor  with  all 
classes  of  women,  and  was  thought  to  be  an  exceedingly 
clever  man.  On  the  evening  of  which  we  write,  he  had 
Mrs.  Penniman  most  tenderly  by  the  hand,  and  appeared 
to  be  fondling  her  very  much  in  the  manner  of  a  husband. 
The  drawing  room  doors  were  shut,  the  curtains  were 
down,  and  the  opportunity  for  a  love  scrape  was  exceed- 
ingly fine.  Mrs.  Penniman,  notwithstanding  her  indis- 
position, notwithstanding  her  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny, was  in  prime  condition  for  anything  that  might 
happen.  She  kissed  Gaseous  with  a  degree  of  fer- 
vor, hardly  equalled  by  youth's  hot  blood,  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  his  presence  exceedingly,  as  much,  if  not  more 
than  she  ever  did  her  husband's.  Whilst,  however,  they 
were  in  this  most  interesting  situation,  who  should  pop 
his  head  into  the  room,  but  old  Penniman.  He  had  en- 
tered the  house  in  his  usual  soft  manner,  and  going  up 
stairs  with  his  light  tread,  had  made  the  most  surprising 
discovery  of  his  long  life  —  his  wife  with  her  lips  close 
pressed  to  those  of  Gaseous  ! 

Old  Penniman  had  been  for  some  time  in  a  most  un- 
happy state  of  mind  in  consequence  of  his  losses,  and  the 
worthless  character  of  his  sons-in-law;  and  now  that  he 
had  detected  his  wife  in  such  familiarity  with  a  libertine, 
(for  Gaseous  was  generally  regarded  as  such,)  he  was 
overwhelmed  with  sadness,  and  at  once  passed  down 
stairs  and  out  of  the  house,  determined  never  to  live 
with  his  wife  again,  muttering : 


220  THE    PENNIMANS. 

*'  Frailty,  thy  name  is  woman.  Go  to  the  theatre,  eh, 
anywhere  for  a  laugh  —  come  home  with  a  smile;  oh,  tho 
wretch !  " 

Mrs.  Penniman  and  Gaseous  stood  amazed  —  their 
hands  trembling  as  they  clasped  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"  The  power  of  soothing  words,  and  soothing  sounds,  appease 
The  raging  pain,  and  lessen  the  disease." 

IDA.  ROBEKTSON,  with,  whom  Andrews  was  closeted,  and 
who  rushed  wildly  from  his  presence,  he  found,  as  he 
passed  into  the  entry  below,  reclining  on  a  sofa,  ap- 
parently unconscious.  He  fell  upon  his  knee  beside  her, 
and  removing  from  her  tear-washed  cheeks  the  hair  which 
veiled  them,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  snowy  white 
handkerchief,  and  wiped  her  face.  He  then  spoke  softly 
to  her,  and  kissed  her  firmly  set  lips.  In  a  few  moments 
she  turned,  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  closely  to  her 
wan  lips,  at  the  same  time  making  an  effort  to  speak ; 
after  some  little  delay  she  said,  in  the  most  inaudible 
manner : 

"  Oh,  sir,  would  I  could  ever  hold  your  hand  in  mine  — 
it  is  so  warm,  and  firm." 

Overpowered  by  this  declaration,  coupled  with  the 
stricken  form  of  Miss  Robertson,  which  never  appeared 
to  him  so  lovely  as  now,  as  it  lay  stretched  upon  the 
sofa,  the  young  man  lamented  that  he  had  ever  been 
born.  He  laid  his  head  upon  her  bosom  and  wept  ve- 
hemently. 

"  Oh,  God  !  "  he  exclaimed,  after  recovering  somewhat 
from  his  sorrow,  "  how  mysterious  are  thy  ways.  Thus 
to  suffer  as  I  do,  is  worse  than  a  thousand  deaths,  but 
thanks,  oh  thanks,  kind  father,  gracious  God,  that  it  is 
written,  '  despise  not  the  chastening  of  the  Lord,  neither 
faint  when  thou  art  rebuked  of  him ;  for  whom  the  Lord 
loveth  he  chasteneth,  and  scourgeth  every  son  whom  he 
receiveth  ;  for  our  light  afflictions,  which  are  but  for  a 
moment,  work  out  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eternal 
weight  of  glory.'  Ida  —  Ida  this  is  the  saddest  hour  of 
my  life." 


222  THE    PEXNIMANS;    OB, 

He  gazed  at  her  ;  she  spoke  not  a  word ;  but  the  tears 
ran  down  her  cheeks,  and  told  of  a  heart  stricken  by  the 
power  of  disappointed  pride,  and  wounded  vanity.  Our 
hero,  although  entirely  unconscious  of  any  blame  which 
could  possibly  attach  to  him  in  the  matter  of  Ida's 
unfortunate  situation,  nevertheless  grieved  as  much  as 
though  he  were  the  sole  cause  of  all  her  sufferings, 
the  lamentable  condition  to  which  she  was  now  reduced. 
It  was  a  pitiful  picture,  that  of  Ida  stretched  upon  the 
sofa,  with  the  hand  of  death  upon  her,  and  the  manly 
form  of  Andrews  bent  over  her  faintly  beating  bosom, 
whose  hopes  in  him  were  so  much  greater  than  he  had 
ever  supposed,  or  encouraged  it  to  cherish.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  had  persistently  discouraged  all  expectation  of 
his  heart  and  hand,  and  early  explained  to  the  lady  the 
precise  state  of  his  feelings.  He  supposed  then  that  there 
was  an  end  to  all  hope,  especially  after  her  neglect  conse- 
quent on  his  dismissal  from  the  firm  of  Catchpenny  &  Co.  — 
and  indeed  there  was.  She  appeared  to  regard  the  matter 
in  this  light ;  and  always  met  him  as  she  would  any  other 
particular  and  valued  friend.  She  mingled  constantly  in 
society,  and  was  quite  attractive,  receiving  a  good  deal 
of  attention  from  the  gentlemen  :  she  was  twice  engaged, 
but  dismissed  her  suitors,  when  she  saw  the  genius  of 
Andrews  developing  so  strikingly.  Her  thoughts  began  now 
to  be  of  him,  more  than  of  all  other  men.  No  one  could 
understand  her  conduct ;  as  she  was  far  too  proud  to  let 
the  world  know  how  well  she  loved  a  man  who  could 
not  become  interested  in  her.  From  Andrews  in  partic- 
ular, she  took  especial  pains  to  conceal  her  intense  desires, 
and  was  so  successful,  that  he  never  for  a  moment  thought 
she  had  more  than  a  sisterly  regard  for  him.  But  no 
sooner  had  he  promised  marriage  to  another,  than  this 
pent  up  passion  she  had  nursed  so  long,  with  its  hopes 
and  fears,  burst  its  imprisonment,  and  beset  young  An- 
drews with  all  the  fury  of  despair.  He  could  not,  nor  he 
would  not  yield  to  it ;  for  he  had  found  a  woman  adapted 
to  his  plans  and  character,  whom  to  discard  would  be  to 
tear  himself  apart ;  and  blast  a  future  in  which  he  had 
many  hopes  laid  up,  not  the  least  of  which  was  his 
triumph  over  assumption.  With  Ida  he  might  not  be 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GEXIUS.  223 

able  to  advance,  with  Agnes  he  would  carry  all  before 
him.  Which  of  the  two  to  choose  it  was  not  difficult  for 
him  to  determine  ;  and  although  it  sorrowed  his  heart  to 
disappoint  Ida,  still  it  seemed  to  be  an  imperative  duty 
he  owed  himself,  to  work  out  his  own  destiny  in  the  most 
direct  manner,  and  by  the  most  approved  and  certain 
means.  He  appreciated  Ida's  feelings  ;  but  he  had  re- 
solved adverse  to  her  love  —  it  could  not  support  him  ; 
besides  it  was  sensual !  and  in  marked  contrast  with  the 
pure  spirituality  of  Agnes.  There  are  very  many  who 
cannot  distinguish  between  a  sensual  and  spiritual  love ; 
and  laugh  immoderately  at  "  those  fools  "  who  make  a 
distinction.  To  love  with  many  is  merely  to  feel  a  desire 
to  cohabit  with  each  other,  to  share  in  each  other's  joys 
and  sorrows,  and  to  be  true  until  death  them  does  part ; 
but  there  is  a  grossness  to  this  sentiment  from  which  a 
purely  spiritual  love  is  free.  It  was  not  so  much  the 
desire  to  cohabit  together  on  the  part  of  Andrews  and 
Agnes,  as  it  was  the  wish  to  interlock  their  minds,  and  to 
be  of  one  spirit,  strong  in  mutuality  of  interest,  of  aims, 
and  hopes,  and  developing  their  faculties  to  the  utmost 
bounds  of  their  stretch,  in  view  of  eternal  progression. 

The  young  man,  as  we  have  said,  bent  over  the  bosom 
of  Ida,  oppressed  with  a  grief  he  had  never  until  now  ex- 
perienced ;  the  grief  of  beholding  one  prostrate  from  an 
excess  of  passion  by  him  excited,  and  which  she  could 
not  control.  His  hand  was  clasped  in  hers,  and  his  head 
yet  rested  on  Ida's  bosom,  which  was  broad  and  full. 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  little  know  the  pangs  here,  here,"  and 
thereupon  she  raised  her  disengaged  hand  to  place  it  at 
her  breast,  but  only  partially  succeeded.  "  My  life,"  she 
continued,  "  has  been  most  sad  and  dreary ;  with  many 
bright  and  cheerful  hopes,  I  may  say  that  I  have  not 
realized  one.  When  I  think  of  those  happy  days  of  our 
youth,  when  we  conversed  so  freely  together,  and  be- 
lieved we  yet  might  wed,  I  am  overwhelmed  with  grief." 

"  Then  do  not  think  of  the  past,"  -rejoined  Andrews, 
pitifully.  "  Blot  it  from  your  memory  ;  think  only  of  the 
future,  and  yet  hope  to  be  happy." 

"  Of  the  future  —  yes,"  responded  Ida.  "  'Tis  much  I 
think  of  it  —  of  that  home  beyond  the  grave,  where  soon 
I  shall  be  installed." 


224  IHE    PENNIMANSJ    OK, 

"  Oh,  do  not  be  so  hopeless  of  life,"  rejoined  Andrews. 
"  You  will  recover  from  this  attack,  and  many  years  of 
enviable  felicity  may  yet  be  yours." 

"  Enviable  !  "  reiterated  Ida,  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
those  of  Andrews.  "  Enviable ;  ah,  sir,"  and  with  these 
words  the  tears  rolled  copiously  down  her  cheeks.  "  Who 
envies  me,  in  aught  I  may  have  of  joy  on  this  earth,  with 
you  wedded  to  another,  must  be  indeed  bankrupt  of  every 
pleasure.  No,  I  do  not  wish  to  live ;  I  feel  I  cannot ;  and 
I  am  content  to  die.  When  I  am  beneath  the  sod,  some- 
times you  may  think  of  me  ;  and  sometimes  you  may 
remember,  although  I  had  my  faults,  I  ever  wished  you 
well." 

She  seemed  at  this  moment  to  be  greatly  exhausted ; 
her  eyes  were  loosely  closed,  and  her  breathing  short  and 
difficult. 

"  Air,  air,"  she  faintly  whispered.     "  I  am  dying  —  air 

—  air." 

The  young  man  threw  up  the  window,  and  unloosed 
about  her  'bosom  and  waist  the  dress  she  had  arranged 
upon  her  person  with  so  much  taste.  Relief  was  at  once 
afforded,  and  she  revived  so  as  to  resume  conversation. 

"  Ah,  sir,  why  could  you  not  have  overlooked  in  me  a 
girlish  folly  ;  why  could  you  not  have  forgiven  a  slight  ?  " 

"  I  forgave  it  all  —  willingly,  freely  forgave,"  replied 
Andrews.  "  But  I  did  not,  could  Tiotforget.'"1 

"  Why,  oh,  why  did  you,  of  all  women  on  earth,  make 
choice  of  such  a  creature  as  Agnes  Farriday  ?  "  returned 
Ida.  "  A  woman  about  whom  so  many  prejudicial  reports 
are  rife.  Forget,  ah,  who  will  ever  forget  such  taste  as 
yours.  If  you  cannot  forget  my  faults,  neither  can  I  for- 
get your  infatuation  ! " 

"Ah,"  replied  the  young  man.     "You  decieve  yourself 

—  you  know  not  what  you  say  —  she  whom  you  despise, 
was  sent  to  me  by  Heaven." 

"  Infatuated  man  !  "  rejoined  Ida.  "  Time  may  yet 
cure  you  of  your  folly.  I  shall  not  live  to  see  it,  but  that 
hour  may  come  when  you  will  wish  to  undo  much  that 
you  have  done.  I  would  it  were  possible  for  me  to  live, 
to  witness  these  scales  fall  from  your  eyes,  and  your  de- 
livery from  this  fatal  delusion  accomplished.  I  would  it 


THE    TKITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  225 

might  be  my  mission  to  rescue  you  from  this  condition  ; 
then  you  would,  perhaps,  think  better  of  me,  and  forget 
as  well  as  forgive  my  errors.  That  I  am  faulty  I  know ; 
and  what  woman  is  not  ?  Who  of  all  their  number  in  any 
of  their  rank,  can  say,  towards  man  they  are  always,  at  all 
times,  and  under  all  circumstances,  perfectly  candid  and 
sincere  ?  Not  one  !  if  she  has  wit  and  contrivance,  if  she 
plays  the  game  of  life  to  win,  as  it  is  taught  by  the  sophis- 
ticated and  refined." 

"  I  cannot  dispute  the  correctness  of  your  remarks,  in 
general,  but  in  some  particulars  I  know  you  are  wrOng," 
rejoined  Andrews,  as  he  gazed  tenderly  at  the  pallid  fea- 
tures of  Ida. 

"  You  would  except  Agnes,  of  course,"  responded  Ida. 
"  0,  how  I  wish  you  could  see  her  as  /  do." 

"  If  I  saw  her  as  you  do,  I  am  sure  she  would  not  seem 
lovely,"  returned  the  young  man.  "  For  with  eyes  that 
see  deformity  in  all  they  may  not,  or  do  not  wish  to  cher- 
ish, but  little  oftentimes  is  pleasing." 

"  Infatuated  man  !  farewell,"  responded  Ida.  "  If  Ag- 
nes Farriday  is  indeed  your  idol,  your  sole  and  only  love, 
I  pray  you  may  be  happy  with  her ;  and  when  I  am  dead, 
as  soon  I  shall  be,  think  of  me  as  one  who  would  have 
you  enjoy  all  the  world  can  bestow  of  peace  and  pleasure. 
Ah,  who  knows  my  heart,  but  God  !  Oh,  oh,  —  I  am  so 
faint,  so  weak  —  so  —  ah.  I  think  this  must  be  death, 
yes,  yes  ;  it  is  —  it  is ;  hold  fast  my  hand,  and  now  that  I 
press  it  to  my  bosom  —  know  that  I  am  poisoned  ;  that  I 
die,  alone  for  you.  When  in  my  laughing  girlhood,  care- 
less and  happy  as  then  I  was,  I  secretly  vowed  never  to 
outlive  your  wedding  day,  if  it  made  MS  not  one  —  true  to 
that  vow,  I  have  taken  that  within,  which  no  drug  can 
antidote.  Andrews,  I  must  die  —  and  you,  ah  —  you  — 
you  —  you  —  the  cause  !  Oh  —  ah  —  it  works  so  slow 
—  but  sure  —  sure.  Agnes  Farri  —  here  —  away  — 
away  woman.  Ah,  sweet  sir,  she  is  your  love  —  yes  — 
yes  —  your  love  —  not  mine,  no,  no,  not  mine,  not  mine." 
Her  frame  was  much  convulsed,  as  she  continued  :  "  Oh, 
think  of  me  sometimes,  sweet  sir,  and  bury  me  —  near  — 
where  you  —  you  —  shall  lie." 

With  these  words  the  death  rattle  followed,  and  she 
ceased  to  breathe. 

10* 


226  THE    PENNIMANS. 

"  Dead,"  murmured  Andrews.  "  And  I  —  I  —  the  cause. 
Oh  God  —  oh  God  !  But  no,  I'll  not  give  way  to  sorrow, 
for  all  is  well.  Thy  decrees,  kind  Heaven,  I  will  believe, 
are  just !  " 

He  kissed  the  cold  brow  and  bloodless  lips  of  Ida,  and 
then  folding  his  hands  in  prayer,  addressed  himself  to  God 
in  these  words :  "  Father,  thy  will  be  done.  It  is  not  for 
man  to  say  what  that  will  shall  be,  but  to  accept  it  thank- 
fully, and  submissively,  taking  to  his  bosom  thy  mysteri- 
ous providences  as  blessings  in  disguise.  Wilt  thou  re- 
ceive into  thy  charge  this  woman,  who  has  fallen  a  victim 
to  the  ungoverned  passions  of  her  nature,  and  who  has 
laid  violent  hands  on  her  own  life.  O  forgive  me,  —  the 
innocent  cause  of  her  sad  end  !  Thou  knowest,  oh  Father, 
all  hearts,  judge  Thou  mine." 

He  remained  for  a  few  moments  spell-bound  by  the 
side  of  Ida,  gazing  at  her  pulseless  brow,  and  apparently 
in  deep  abstraction  —  repeatedly  saying  in  tones  nearly 
inaudible.  "I  —  the  cause  —  poison  —  poison."  Ida  was, 
as  we  have  said,  generally  known  in  society,  and  there 
were  many  who  entertained  for  her  a  sincere  respect.  She 
was  connected  with  a  number  of  charities,  and  many  has 
been  the  time  when  her  purse  has  furnished  the  worthy 
beggar  with  raiment,  food,  and  fire.  The  news  of  her 
death  was  received  with  pain,  and  at  her  burial  two  days 
subsequent  to  her  demise,  many  persons  of  mark  were  in 
attendance.  Young  Andrews,  faithful  to  her  request,  had 
her  body  deposited  in  the  grounds  where  he  would  be 
entombed,  and  a  neat  marble  monument  was  placed  to  her 
memory,  thus  inscribed : 

IDA    ROBEKTSON, 

DIED,  AGED 

25. 

"  With  fairest  flowers 

While  summer  last,  and  I  live  here,  Fidele, 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave;  thou  shalt  not  lack, 
The  flower  that's  like  thy  face  —  pale  primrose." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

"  Her  letter  is  a  (fern— indeed  it  sparkles." 

OUB  hero  had  never  been  touched  before,  so  harshly, 
by  the  hand  of  sorrow,  as  he  was  by  the  death  of  Ida ; 
for  he  could  not  but  know  it  was  her  mortification  and 
disappointment  which  his  ardent  love  for  Agnes  Farriday 
had  occasioned,  which  induced  her  to  take  her  own  life. 
He  did  not  believe  she  destroyed  herself,  because  of  her 
"  unrequited  love,"  for  Ida  was  not  a  woman  to  love  so 
deeply,  but  her  vanity  was  in  the  extreme.  She  had 
schooled  herself  to  think,  notwithstanding  the  young 
man's  cautious  intercourse  with  her,  that  she  was  indis- 
pensable to  his  happiness,  and  that  eventually  they  would 
be  joined  together  in  the  holy  bonds  of  wedlock,  provided 
she  continued  to  regard  such  a  consummation  as  desirable. 
When,  therefore,  Agnes  Farriday  interposed  to  dash  all 
this  bright  and  cherished  future  away,  she  was  agitated 
in  a  degree  never  before  experienced.  "  A  courtezan," 
she  would  constantly  mutter  to  herself,  "  a  vile,  shame- 
less woman,  thus  to  be  preferred  to  me !  /  who  have 
knowp  him  from  boyhood,  who  have  so  often  kissed  him, 
and  mended  his  garments  when  torn — *o  desert  me,  at 
a  time  of  life,  too,  when  marriage  is  so  much  more  a  mat- 
ter of  interest  than  in  our  earlier  years  —  Oh,  it  is  shame- 
ful!"  And  this  was  the  burden  of  her  thoughts,  from 
the  young  man's  engagement,  to  the  moment  of  her 
death. 

The  Catchpennys  alone,  of  all  the  Penniman  set, 
indeed,  of  all  the  circle  in  which  Ida  was  known,  were 
pleased  to  say  of  this  misguided  woman,  that  if  she  had 
had  more  brains,  she  would  have  had  more  self-control  : 
to  kill  herself  for  such  an  upstart  as  this  William  An- 
drews, was  certainly  one  of  her  weakest  points.  They 
laughed  and  joked  over  the  circumstance  as  though  but 


228  THE    PENNIMANS  J    OB, 

\ 

an  incident  of  a  play,  and  they  thought  she  might  have 
made  her  death  much  more  tragic,  by  using  a  dagger 
instead  of  poison.  But  the  Catchpenneys  had  failed ; 
they  were  mortified  and  reckless.  They  had  been  "  drop- 
ped "  by  nearly  all  of  those  with  whom  they  had  been 
on  terms  of  intimacy,  when  reputed  "  to  be  persons  of 
wealth."  Mrs.  Touchmenot  was  particularly  cool  towards 
them,  for  she  had  never  forgotten  that  it  was  "  at  the  tea- 
table  of  these  mushroons,  "That  she  had  witnessed  the 
greatest  exhibition  of  vulgarity  she  had  ever  seen  either 
on  or  off  of  the  stage."  She  abused  them  at  every  oppor- 
tunity which  offered,  declaring,  that  whoever  was  either 
directly  or  indirectly  concerned,  whether  intentionally  or 
not,  in  her  discomforture,  she  hated  and  despised. 

Her  daughter  Julia  was  equally  hostile  to  the  Catch- 
pennys,  and  only  wondered  how  she  ever  came  to  find 
any  pleasure,  whatever,  in  the  society  of  such  people.  She 
thought  the  metaphysicians  had  yet  much  to  explain,  to 
make  clear  why  it  is,  persons  who  are  really  worthless, 
should  at  any  time,  and  under  any  circumstances,  appear 
otherwise,  passing  themselves  off  for  metal  which  has  the 
real  ring,  when  they  are  nothing  but  pewter.  And  there 
was  much  else  she  could  not  understand,  but  she  was 
exceedingly  careful  to  say  nothing  about  it.  She  had 
married,  not  for  love,  but  for  pleasure  and  convenience, 
Mr.  Sampsone,  —  not  plain  Anglo-Saxon  Sampson,  because 
such  a  pronunciation  of  that  word  would  be  in  common 
usage,  and  as  the  Touchmenots  would  be  thought  per- 
sons of  thorough  quality,  they  deemed  it  indispensable 
that  they  should  give  a  foreign  air  both  to  the  name  and 
manners  of  their  "  exquisitely  formed  son-in-law."  So 
they  sent  him  to  Europe  with  his  "  dashing  wife,"  with 
not  a  cent  in  his  pocket  which  he  had  ever  earned,  or 
could  earn.  He  travelled  on  his  whiskers,  his  splendid 
form,  his  unblushing  impudence,  and  the  purse  of  old 
Touchmenot,  whose  face  was  as  hard,  as  the  hoofs  of  his 
elegant  pair  of  horses,  which  dragged  around  the  city, 
and  through  the  adjacent  country,  the  incomparable  flesh 
of  his  bloated  and  high-tempered,  illiterate,  savage-coun- 
tenanced spouse  —  who  waddled  up  and  down  her  high 
•tone  steps,  as  though  the  effort  was  too  much  for  her. 


THE    TBIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  229 

The  letters  came  thick  and  fast  from  Mrs.  Sampsone, 
unto  her  "  dear  darling  mother,"  who  "  quite  lost  her 
usually  good  spirits,  when  Julia  omitted  to  write  her 
from  every  point  of  Europe  which  she  visited."  She 
watched  the  progress  of  her  children  from  city  to  city, 
from  town  to  town,  from  lake  to  lake,  and  declared  to  her 
acquaintances  she  had  never  in  all  her  life  before,  taken 
so  closely  to  the  darling  map  of  Europe  —  she  thought 
Europe  was  "  perfectly  splendid,"  and  only  wondered 
why  the  "  fair  haired  Germans,  did  not  at  a  much  earlier 
period,  cut  their  way  to  its  Southern,  delightfully  sunny 
shores."  This  was  a  quotation  from  one  of  the  letters 
she  had  lately  received  from  Julia,  who  was  at  its  date 
at  Salamanca,  in  Spain  ;  but  Mrs.  Touchmenot  used  the 
language  and  ideas  as  her  own  ;  for  she  considered,  she 
had  done  so  much  for  her  children,  that  they  could  never 
do  too  much  for  her.  As  a  specimen  of  Mrs.,  or  rather 
Madame  Sampsone' s  style  of  letter  writing,  we  present 
the  following,  which  was  picked  up  on  one  of  the  thor- 
oughfares of  the  city,  it  having  dropped,  as  is  supposed, 
from  old  Penniman's  pocket,  as  he  was  constantly  jerk- 
ing from  it  a  dirty  bandana  handkerchief,  with  which  he 
wiped  his  ungainly  looking,  though  active  nose.  Of  all 
the  men  in  the  metropolis,  for  a  rich  one,  he  was,  with- 
out exception,  the  most  contemptible,  vulgar  looking 
individual,  to  be  at  any  time  observed  on  the  streets. 
He  walked  with  the  air  of  a  miser,  and  his  head  and 
neck,  which  were  always  pitched  forward,  projected  quite 
noticeably  from  the  line  of  his  stomach,  that  never,  at 
any  time,  appeared  to  be  any  too  well  supplied  with  the 
necessaries  of  life.  It  was  said  he  was  always  talking  to 
his  wife  about  the  shameful  and  enormous  appetites  of 
those  composing  his  household.  Towards  the  cook,  espe- 
cially, he  bore  a  strong  aversion ;  for,  as  he  declared, 
"  he  never  passed  through  the  kitchen  when  that  glutton- 
ous thing  was  not  feeding  herself  and  the  butler  and 
maids  with  dainties."  •  He  had  frequently  given  Mrs. 
Touchmenot  orders  "  to  dismiss  the  wretch,"  but  she 
respectfully  declined,  saying,  "  that  if  Bessy,  who  had 
lived  with  them  so  long,  and  whose  cooking  they  liked 
so  well,  and  who  was  so  neat  and  clean,  was  sent  away, 


230  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

she  would  likewise  leave  the  house."  This  was  always 
a  "  dead  shot  "  at  Mr.  Touchmenot ;  for  whenever  his 
wife  threatened  to  leave  the  house,  he  became  instantly 
docile  and  resigned  to  whatever  evils  he  had  raised  his 
harsh  discordant  voice  against.  The  old  man  had  lived  so 
many  years  with  his  wife,  that  though  their  matrimonial 
life  begun  not  from  the  well-spring  of  the  purest  affec- 
tion, they  having  married  from  policy,  still,  he  had  grown 
to  be  very  dependent  upon  her  for  his  domestic  happiness, 
and  on  no  account  would  he  consent  to  live  apart  from 
her  ;  and  so,  too,  she  towards  him  entertained  a  like  senti- 
ment of  attachment  and  dependence  ;  but  her  cunning  was 
such,  that  she  concealed  her  true  feelings,  and  contrived  to 
give  to  her  husband  the  impression,  that  at  any  moment,  for 
cause,  she  was  ready  and  willing  to  desert  him.  This  im- 
pression held  him  in  fear,  and  by  this  fear  she  exercised  over 
him  a  government,  of  which  he  was  at  times  most  impa- 
tient, yet  he  submitted,  lest  something  more  unendurable 
should  come  upon  him. 

The  Catchpennys,  we  have  said,  had  failed  !  From 
pride  and  plenty,  they  had  slipped  to  humility  and  scarc- 
ity ;  but  they  still  carried  on  their  game  of  presumption, 
as  far  as  circumstances  would  allow.  They  talked  as 
loud,  and  as  consequential,  in  some  particulars,  as  ever. 
They  declared  that  the  wisest  and  best  of  mankind  had 
been,  and  still  were  poor ;  that  poverty  was  no  disgrace, 
though  exceedingly  inconvenient  on  market  days  ;  that 
Socrates  and  most  of  the  ancient  philosophers  were  un- 
blessed with  money,  and  lived  in  tubs  ;  and  that  so  envi- 
able their  lot  was  deemed  to  be,  that  the  greatest 
potentate  of  the  age,  Alexander,  declared  that  if  he 
were  not  a  prince,  he  would  be  a  philosopher,  and  con- 
tent himself  with  a  tub  ;  and,  finally,  they  would  cite 
the  history  of  the  Saviour,  who  had  not  where  to  lay  his 
head,  and  then  triumphantly  ask,  what  disgrace  can 
there  possibly  be  in  poverty  —  'tis  inconvenient,  that  is 
all,  and  so  are  many  other  matters  inconvenient,  particu- 
larly toady  friends,  who  are  always  the  accompaniments 
of  riches.  Thus  the  Catchpennys  consoled  themselves 
in  their  misfortunes,  and  amused  themselves  by  laughing 
at  and  ridiculing  those  who  had  dropped  their  acquaint- 


THE    TBIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  231 

ance,  because  they  were  now  no  longer  in  silks  and  a 
fine  house,  on  a  fashionable  street.  They  particularly 
enjoyed  all  the  ludicrous  statements  which  were  made,  of 
the  peculiarities  of  the  Touchmenot  family,  whom  every 
one  admired,  for  the  fund  of  amusement  which  their  im- 
becility and  airs  afforded  to  society  at  large ;  and  so 
heartily  never  did  they  laugh,  not  even  in  their  palmiest 
days,  when  their  spirits  were  most  buoyant,  as  at  these 
people,  now  especially  since  the  letter  to  which  we  have 
referred  exposed  them  to  public  view  in  a  most  lament- 
able plight  of  the  humorous.  But  lest  we  should  omit 
this  choice  bit  of  correspondence,  and  thereby  deprive 
the  reader  of  a  "  good  thing,"  which  we  should  deep- 
ly regret,  since  towards  you,  whether  one  of  the  set  to 
which  we  have  the  honor  and  felicity  to  belong,  or  one  of 
the  opposite,  for  whom  we  entertain  no  sentiment  not 
Christian  —  for  you,  we  have  not  any  other  wish  than  that 
you  should  be  "  highly  entertained,"  and  why  should  you 
not  be,  who  give  your  time,  your  attention,  and  your 
money,  to  our  tale.  Here  is  the  letter  ;  if  you  have  the 
blues,  they  will  not,  I  am  sure,  survive  this  hour.  The 
grammer  in  particular  you  will  admire. 

"SPAIN,   OH  SPAIN. 
Jan'y  18. 

Well,  mamma,  what  do  you  think  of  me  ?  Aint  I  on  a 
high  hoarse  here  in  Spain  ?  The  way  '  hubby  and  I,' 
with  his  small  hands  and  feet  and  smashing  whiskers, 
have  put  things  through,  is  a  caution  to  young  cubs. 
Money  makes  the  mare  go,  and  so  we  go  it  —  like  the 
very  devil. 

1  am  constantly  meeting  folks  from  home,  but  I  can't 
take  any  pleasure  in  their  society  —  disgusting  creatures 
—  they  look  and  act  as  though  they  had  just  barely  pen- 
nies enough  to  take  them  out  and  home,  at  the  cheapest 
rate  —  and  besides,  too,  what  do  you  think !  the  devilish 
mongrels  eat  with  their  knives  —  whenever  I  see  a  knife 
being  shoved  into  their  mouths  freighted  with  stuff  enough 
at  one  pop,  to  feed  a  dozen  young  ones,  I  always  wish 
the  food  might  choke  them,  and  the  knife  cut  their  vulgar 
throats.  Such  people  going  abroad !  do  you  wonder  that 


232  THE    PENKIMANS  ;    OB, 

most  all  Europeans  think  the  Yankee  nation  a  pack  of 
trafficking  hogs  —  and  that  they  say  all  manner  of  uncom- 
plimentary things  of  us.  Sampsone  and  myself  they  take 
to  be  anything  but  Yankees,  and  if  '  I  and  hubby '  could 
only  speak  the  French  well,  we  might  pass  for  Parisennes, 
which  is  my  highest  ambition  next  to  that  of  maternity, 
which  I  shall,  with  hubby's  consent,  realize  by  and  by, 
but  he  is  so  dreadful  tender  footed  and  tender  hearted  on 
this  subject — that  I  sometimes  am  quite  discouraged. 
There's  no  go  ahead  to  him  at  all. 

He  says  he  married  me  for  his  convenience,  isn't  this 
cool  enough  and  shameful  enough,  and  ought  he  not  be 
made  to  suffer  for  such  conduct ;  but  he  is  such  a  dear 
handsome  fellow,  and  has  such  splendid  eyes,  dark  as 
night,  and  such  soft  sensual  —  spiritual  whiskers,  of  which 
I  dearly  love  to  feel,  that  I  can  for  his  sweet  sake  forgive 
him  most  anything.  Marry  me  for  his  convenience  !  well, 
that  is  a  hard  pill  for  me  to  swallow,  but  I  have  down 
with  it,  and  doesn't  hurt  me  one  bit  —  it  nauseates  a  little, 
that  is  all.  And  what  more  do  you  think  he  says  —  why, 
that  he  has  no  idea  of  being  overrun  by  a  pack  of  brats 
through  any  instrumentality  of  his.  Well,  there  now, 
I  do  think,  that  is  too  bad  —  one  of  my  chief  hopes  of  pleas- 
ure smashed,  through  his  political  economy,  or  whatever  you 
please  to  call  it.  I  call  it,  to  give  it  its  right  name,  infernal 
ingratitude  and  stubbornness  —  with  plenty  of  money,  and 
everything  else  to  go  ahead  upon,  and  yet  the  stupid 
holds  back.  When  I  tell  him  to  have  back-bone ;  that 
we  have  got  money  enough  —  in  fact  are  made  up  of  it,  and 
to  do  his  duty,  he  says  :  '  No  man  knoweth  what  a  day  may 
bring  forth.'  Your  daddy  may  die,  and  I  am  no  money 
scrub  as  he  is ;  when  he  goes,  the  stream  is  dried  up 
which  supplies  our  pond,  and  if  a  hard  time  should  come 
in  the  course  of  affairs  we  might  find  our  pond,  no  pond 
at  all.  So,  say  nothing  more  to  me  about  raising  a  family, 
for  I  foresee,  as  soon  as  I  begin  this  unprofitable  game,  I 
shall  be  a  heavy  loser  and  thereby  raise  the  devil.  No, 
no,  leave  me  to  prudence,  you  torment,  to  toast  and  eggs 
for  breakfast,  the  best  for  dinner,  and  ease  all  the  way 
through  life.  Plenty  of  wine,  good  soup,  pretty  women, 
mountain  scenery,  and  picturesque  landscapes,  and  I  am 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  233 

all  right —  O.  K.,  with  nothing  shall  I  find  fault,  but  say 
in  all  sincerity  that  God  spoke  truly  when  he  said  all  that 
he  had  made  was  good  —  this,  under  circumstances  of  my 
own  selection,  I  should  endorse  without  the  least  hesita- 
tion. 

Now,  this  is  the  way  this  fellow  talks  —  and  yet  people 
like  him  —  you  have  no  idea  how  many  friends  he  has, 
and  women  too,  are  always  casting  longing  eyes  at  him. 
Don't  you  think  one  Spanish  wench  was  so  complaisant 
with  him,  that  I  was  obliged  to  tell  her  to  desist  —  that 
I  could  not  allow  any  woman  '  to  tread  upon  my  toes  '  — 
and  that  if  she  didn't  mind  what  she  was  about,  dot  her 
i's  and  cross  her  t's,  I  would  report  her  to  such  parties 
in  law  as  would  bind  her  over  to  keep  the  peace. 

Spunk,  oh,  spunk,  mama,  is  a  great  thing.  You  never 
saw  a  creature  so  essentially  cowed  —  so  used  up.  She 
left  the  house  at  once,  and  went,  I  hope  to  the  devil  —  for 
I  think  it  is  there  she  is  '  native  and  to  the  manner  born'  — 
Shakspeare,  I  believe,  a  very  respectable  authority  among 
poets  and  noodles,  but  of  no  account  whatever  in  business 
circles.  All  that  this  genius  !  as  they  call  him  ever  said, 
or  for  aught  I'  know  to  the  contrary,  ever  did,  could  not 
buy  one  such  a  dress  as  I  would  wish  to  wear. 

Poets  —  genius —  good  Heavens  — a  pack  of  lazy  curses, 
who,  whenever  they  marry,  always  contrive  to  make  their 
wives  as  miserable  as  miserable  can  be.  All  the  drudgery 
thrown  on  to  the  wives,  —  a  plaguy  set  of  fools,  I  say,  for 
putting  up  with  the  nonsense  of  these  pumkin  heads, 
who  can  do  nothing  under  the  sun,  but  talk  about  inspi- 
ration, and  write  the  most  infernal  trash,  that  persons  who 
read  their  stuff  may  become  as  incompetent  and  shame- 
less as  themselves. 

A  Spaniard  of  Cadiz,  who  had  been  in  Boston,  and 
took  considerable  interest  in  us  on  that  account,  (and  who 
by  the  way  was  a  very  learned  somebody,  and  so  eccen- 
tric !  nothing  about  him  was  like  anything  I  had  ever 
seen  before.  I  took  him  at  first  to  be  a  madman,  or  a 
fool,  so  singular  his  appearance).  Well,  this  fellow  un- 
dertook to  tell  us  all  concerning  the  literary  genius  of 
Spain,  about  Calderron,  De  Vega,  Cervantes,  and  I  don't 
remember  who  else ;  but  he  ran  on  as  though  mad  —  par- 


231  THE    PENNIMAXS. 

ticularly  when  discousring  of  the  genius  of  De  Vega  — 
whom  he  said  was  by  all  odds  the  greatest  of  dramatists,  the 
world  had  ever  known.  Shakspeare  he  thought  a  dwarf 
to  him.  I  stood  up  for  Shakspeare,  and  so  did  '  hubby.' 
—  I  told  him  Hamlet  and  Macbeth,  and  King  Lear,  and 
Richard  3d,  Othello,  and  Julius  Caesar,  no  man  could 
transcend,  and  I  said  it  in  such  a  way  too,  as  was  evident 
I  meant  it. 

When  this  Spanish  chap  saw  that  I  could  talk  as  well  as 
'  hubby,'  though  hubby  is  rather  tame  on  emergencies, 
he  gave  way,  and  began  to  '  haul  in  his  horns,'  —  and 
finally,  he  became  quite  calm,  and  appeared  once  more 
like  a  rational  human  being.  Oh,  these  scholars,  these 
fellows  who  know  so  much,  one  has  only  to  spunk  up  to 
them  —  to  appear  to  know  something  as  well  as  they,  to 
talk  confidently,  and  they  flatten  out  at  once  —  cave,  as 
Gaseous  used  to  say,  when  he  would  be  felicitous.  I 
want  you  to  write  me  all  about  this  fellow.  Did  you  ever 
in  all  your  life  know  such  a  fool  —  a  fellow  with  so  much 
impudence  and  so  little  to  brag  of.  Just  think  of  a  man, 
with  so  little  real  worth  to  recommend  him,  dashing  around 
among  the  *  best  circles  '  with  all  the  bombast  and  blush- 
ing insolence  of  a  Mogul.  Ought  he  not  to  be  stuffed 
like  an  alegator  when  he  dies,  and  be  put  in  the  museum, 
as  a  rare  biped  —  for  he  is  amphibious  you  know,  now  on 
land,  then  at  sea.  I  have  been  surprised  at  the  patience 
with  which  most  persons  in  society  have  borne  his  pre- 
sumption and  undue  familiarities.  He  may  be  a  '  clever 
man,'  but  I  swear  he  is  the  most  self-complacent  one  I 
ever  knew,  and  swings  himself  about  like  the  jib  boom 
or  spanker  of  a  vessel  in  light  airs  and  a  rolling  sea.  But 
enough  of  him.  Like  all  the  rest  of  us,  he  must  sooner 
or  later  die,  and  when  he  stinks  in  the  ground  he  will 
need  more  than  at  present,  his  lavender.  (Mrs.  Touch- 
menot  was  sorry  to  find  such  a  bitter  allusion  to  Gaseous, 
because  she  rather  liked  this  man,  as  she  had  in  early  life 
been  intimate  with  his  father,  who  was  of  a  good  family, 
and  somewhat  attached  to  her.) 

With  all  that  I  have  seen  I  may  say  that  I  am  quite 
pleased.  I  like  things  in  general  very  well.  I  have  an 
eye  for  nature,  at  times,  but  I  am  no  artist  I  suppose,  for 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  235 

these  people  have  their  eye  on  nature  the  whole  time  and 
on  nothing  else,  except  patrons.  They  have  a  clear  vision, 
and  wonderful  scent  for  pap,  and  it  matters  not  who 
spoons  it  out  to  them  so  that  they  get  it.  They  are  the 
most  ridiculous  set  of  beings,  as  a  rule  with  whom  we 
meet.  I  can  tell  one  of  these  fools  as  far  as  I  can  see  — 
they  always  have  a  peculiar  way  with  them  —  a  certain 
something  plainly  tells  one  — '  I  am  an  artist ;  unless 
you  feel  for  and  can  appreciate  genius,  and  will  spoon  me 
some  pap,  don't  you  presume  on  my  time  or  attention  — 
for  I  am  at  home  only  to  those,  who  admire  genius,  and 
can  afford  to  patronize  it.'  Such  a  pack  of  impracti- 
cable asses  as  are  these,  ought  to  be  ridden  on  rails,  and 
dumped  into  the  horse  ponds  of  the  several  countries, 
which  they  inhabit,  for  they  are  of  no  account  in  any  mat- 
ters of  first-rate  importance.  They  are  never  contented 
or  in  any  measure  happy,  but  growling,  grumbling  the 
whole  time,  and  abusing  not  only  each  other  personally, 
but  their  works.  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  one  artist 
say  of  another,  in  the  same  line  of  business,  that  his 
brother's  works  were  well  executed,  without  adding  such 
qualifications  as  made  faint  praise  go  but  little  ways. 
And  this  is  called  genius !  these  are  the  favored  children 
of  God  !  If  they  are,  they  ought  to  be  whipped  and  sent 
to  bed,  for  their  treatment  not  only  of  each  other,  but  of 
those  not  of  their  brotherhood,  to  whom  they  always  are 
willing  to  toady,  when  there  is  anything  to  be  gained.  I 
know  these  fellows,  toeZ/,  and  the  reason  why  I  have  never 
received  any  particular  attention  from  them  is,  because  I 
have  always  made  merry  over  the  idea  of  genius,  and  the  ab- 
surd claims  set  up  for  it,  among  what  is  termed  '  the  learned 
world  ' —  learned  boobies  —  why,  I  have  seen  some  of  this 
class,  whom  it  took  so  long  to  collect  their  thoughts  on  any 
given  subject,  that  one  might  make  a  tolerable  long  jour- 
ney, and  then  still  find  time  to  spare,  before  our  scholar 
fairly  got  his  mouth  open ;  but,  I  must  confess,  when  it 
is  opened,  it  sometimes  requires  a  long  period  before  it 
can  again  be  shut.  I  dread  the  opening  I  assure  you ; 
and  as  a  rule  I  avoid  people,  who  are  what  is  called  '  well 
stored  with  information,'  for  every  one  in  two  proves 
to  be  an  unendurable  bore.  They  always  want  to  con- 


236  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

vince  one  of  something,  about  which  they  have  formed 
very  comfortable  and  satisfactory  opinions,  and  don't  care 
to  be  disturbed  in  them. 

They  are  progressives  —  they  are  a  pack  of  noisy 
hounds,  who  are  ever  scenting  out  what  they  call  error, 
and  barking  at  it  —  reform  I  These  apostles  of  reform, 
'  hubby  '  says,  (and  I  think  his  judgment  is  pretty  good 
upon  such  matters,)  are  the  most  dangerous  of  mankind  — 
and  he  thinks  such  characters  at  home  —  that  is  through- 
out the  Northern  States,  will  before  many  years  destroy 
the  Union  —  and  he  furthermore  thinks,  they  will  plunge 
the  entire  country  in  fratricidal  war. 

I  never  heard  '  hubby '  so  eloquent  before,  save  when 
he  told  me  how  he  loved  me,  and  how  he  should  die  of  a 
broken  heart,  if  I  did  not  marry  him.  But  he  lied  there 
—  there  is  not  the  least  doubt  of  that,  for  I  am  satisfied 
he  is  brittle  in  no  part  but  his  stomach  —  a  disappoint- 
ment there  might  result  fatally,  but  as  to  his  heart,  why 
it  is  as  tough  as  an  old  piece  of  leather,  or  a  bull's  horn, 
you  have  no  idea  how  tough  it  is.  But  I'll  mellow  him 
and  it  in  time  —  if  I  don't,  then  I  shall  certainly  become 
pious,  go  into  a  nunnery  and  veil  my  charms  —  and  spit 
at  all  breeches  ever  after.  Well,  isn't  this  a  thundering 
long  letter  —  You  know  when  I  set  out  to  do  anything  I 
do  it.  I  set  out  to  tire  you  *  right  good,'  as  the 
Southerners  say,  whom  I  have  met,  (and  they  are  fellows 
I  like,  I  must  say,)  although  there  is  considerable  oats  to 
them  —  that  is,  they  feel  pretty  well ;  that  is,  they  are 
sensible  of  their  oats — a  horse  phrase,  but  a  natural  one, 
nevertheless  ;  those  who  are  fond  of  nature  cannot  in  con- 
science object.  Well,  I  meant  to  tire  you,  and  I  guess  I 
have  succeeded.  I  felt  a  sort  of  spite  when  I  commenced 
this  letter,  and  as  there  was  no  one  at  hand  on  whom  I 
could  vent  it,  I  just  set  down  to  open  the  phial  on  you. 
If  you  cant  take  liberties  with  your  parents  and  friends, 
who  can  you  be  free  with  ;  that's  the  question.  '  Hub- 
by '  strokes  his  elegant  black  beard,  which  falls  in  a'rtistic 
grace  down  upon  his  full  projecting  bosom,  and  says  to 
me,  I  do  perfectly  right  —  no  one  is  more  fitting  than  a 
parent  to  receive  back  their  own.  Now,  just  think  of 
such  an  idea  as  that,  encouraging  me  in  such  ways  ;  but 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  237 

he  is  a  darling,  and  I  overlook  in  him  much  that  I  could 
not  in  a  booby.  More  in  my  next  of  '  Americans  abroad.' 

There  are  some  rich  specimens  of  gentility  from  Boston 
—  persons  who  not  merely  eat  with  their  knives,  but  blow 
their  noses  on  the  napkins,  presuming  that  they  are  put 
by  their  plate  for  that  purpose.  Beside  this  dirty  trick, 
they  squirt  tobacco  juice  around,  so  that  one  is  in  great 
danger  at  times  and  in  certain  places  of  being  thoroughly 
steeped  in  the  weed.  I  wish  the  devilish  men  would,  if 
they  call  themselves  civilized  give  some  proof  of  it,  at 
least.  Can  you  imagine  anything  more  barbarous  than 
fche  chewing  of  tobacco,  —  I  certainly  cannot.  Hubby 
says  it  is  with  reluctance  that  he  smokes  —  but  this  is 
another  of  his  lies  —  for  I  am  satisfied  he  could  not  do 
without  his  cigar,  any  more  than  he  could  do  without  me  ; 
but  he  is  a  dear  good  fellow,  (and  notwithstanding  he  lies 
when  he  pleases,  and  who  don't  ?)  I  love  him  dearly,  and 
I  shall  always  love  him,  provided  he  keeps  his  health  and 
his  darling  whiskers  which  I  do  so  admire,  and  am  so  well 
pleased  to  play  with  in  the  morning  when  I  awake  ;  and 
I  do  so  love  to  comb  them,  too  ;  for  then  is  is  that  '  hub- 
by '  takes  me  «o  Frenchy  in  his  lap,  and  kisses  me  so 
sweetly  —  you  have  no  idea  what  an  art  he  makes  of  all 
this,  and  the  delightful  sensation  produced.  I  do  declare 
there  is  something  after  all  in  a  gentleman's  ways  —  one 
thoroughly  so  to  the  back-bone,  which  is  irresistible ;  and 
it  is  no  use  to  think  of  enjoying  love  with  any  other  — 
for  love  is  a  myth,  if  not  professed  by  one  who  has  a  fine 
taste,  and  is  alive  to  all  its  delicate  shades.  One  who  has 
never  experienced  it,  has  no  conception  of  the  many  ex- 
quisite sensations  a  skilful  lover  may  excite  in  a  woman, 
in  every  twenty-four  hours.  I  tell  you  such  a  man  is 
worth  the  getting  at  any  rate  —  a  half  a  dozen  fortunes  is 
none  too  large  a  price  for  him.  I  consider  that  I  have 
made  a  great  haul  —  next  to  that  I  made  in  the  *  North- 
ern Light '  —  a  yacht  which  for  so  long  time  was  the  gem 
of  the  waters  of  Boston  Bay,  if  I  except  the  saucy  dashing 
little  Raven,  whose  wonderful  speed  has  so  often  aston- 
ished me,  when  I  have  been  sailing  off  Nahant. 

I  once  said  to  a  friend  who  sat  at  my  side  at  the  table 
d'hote  of  one  of  the  most  agreeable  houses  for  travellers 


238  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OR, 

in  the  city  of  Madrid,  and  whom  I  had  met  at  Newport 
and  Nahant,  and  who  was  perfectly  familiar  with  all  the 
boats  and  their  commanders  at  both  places  —  *  Sir,'  said  I, 
'  why  is  it  the  Raven  is  such  a  superior  craft  ?  she  beats 
everything  of  her  size,  and  much  over."  '  Oh,'  said  he, 
smiling,  '  there  is  no  mystery  here  ;  the  gentleman  who 
built  that  boat,  I  know  very  well ;  I  have  known  him 
from  a  boy ;  his  love  of  boat-sailing  was  a  very  early  one 
—  and  '  speed  '  has  always  been  his  motto.  He  is  one 
of  the  sort  who  booms  ahead  ;  he  gets  things  right,  first, 
then  he  goes  in  and  wins,  upon  such  a  principle  as  this,  he 
modelled  the  Raven  —  she  has  never  failed  to  do  all  she 
was  expected  to  do  ;  ahe's  a  trump  card,  and  whenever 
played  she  takes  a  trick.  Like  her  owner,  she  thinks 
quick,  talks  quick,  and  moves  quick ;  in  a  word  she  is  a 
beauty  !  " 

'  She  is,'  I  replied  at  once  *  I  endorse  all  you  have 
said.'  Now,  mama,  have  I  not  run  on  at  a  great  rate, 
about  boats  and  artists,  and  vicious  women  and  vicious 
men,  and  I  don't  know  what,  —  so  numerous  are  the 
themes.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  all  the  news  —  you 
are  so  short  always.  I  shall  begin  to  believe  you  are  get- 
ting old  and  ugly,  if  you  do  not  pay  me  more  attention, 
I  shall,  indeed.  I  wish  I  knew  Latin  enough  to  wind  up 
with  —  so  much  for  being  only  half  educated.  You  have 
no  idea  how  meanly  I  have  felt,  (although  I  have  allowed 
no  one  to  perceive  it,)  when  thrown  into  the  society  of 
learned  people,  because  I  could  not  comprehend  much  of 
the  conversation,  so  interlarded  was  it  with  Latin  quota- 
tions. I  at  first  thought  this  was  all  affectation,  but  I  am 
satisfied  that  those  who  are  perfectly  conversant  with  the 
Latin  language,  make  these  quotations  from  habits,  per- 
fectly natural  to  them  ;  and  so  I  wish  to  God  I  had  been 
thoroughly  educated,  but  its  too  late  now  to  cry  over  spilt 
milk,  and  I  am  not  one  to  be  a  fool,  on  all  occasions  — 
and  at  every  chance.  I  know  what  society  thinks  of  me, 
but  by  and  by  I'll  show  them  who  and  what  I  am.  Some 
of  them  in  laughing  at  me,  may  laugh  too  long. 

Adieu,  old  lady,  and  believe  me  yours  with  a  sigh, 

JULIA." 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  239 

We  trust,  dear  reader,  that  you  are  not  uncomfortably 
fatigued,  by  this  long-winded  effort  of  Mrs.  Sampsone, 
late  Miss  Julia  Touchraenot.  We  could  have  condensed 
it ;  but  we  thought  it  would  be  more  satisfactory  to  you 
to  have  the  whole,  and  so  we  yielded  to  what  we  believed 
your  good  will  and  pleasure. 

The  Misses  Catchpennys,  as  we  have  said,  made  consid- 
erable sport  over  this  production  which  they  happened  to 
hear  read  by  persons  who  were  privy  to  its  contents.  It 
was  another  severe  mortification  that  Mrs.  Touchmenot 
had  experienced,  "  that  her  letters  from  her  daughter  should 
meet  the  vulgar  eye  ;  "  and  when  Julia  learned  of  the  mis- 
hap, she  wrote  to  her  father  a  letter  full  of  wrath.  Old 
Touchmenot  had  never  in  the  whole  course  of  his  exist- 
ence received  such  a  "  dressing  down,"  to  use  Mrs. 
Sampsone's  words,  as  she  gave  him  for  being  so  careless 
with  her  correspondence.  It  was  to  speak  in  her  father's 
phraseology,  "  savage  and  unnatural."  He  had  had  a 
number  of  hard  kicks  within  his  family  circle,  but  the 
hardest  one  he  had  yet  received  was  that  of  being  called 
"  a  childish  old  fool  —  a  superannuated  nightmare." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

"  Mine  enemies  1  will  forgive." 

THE  Catchpennys,  we  have  said,  had  failed,  and  a  bad 
failure  it  was.  The  girls  had  given  up  all  hope  of  being  mar- 
ried to  their  mind,  and  so  they  would  not  marry  at  all ;  they 
despised  men  as  a  vain  set  of  coxcombs,  who  were  "  bob- 
bing around"  in  society  as  beasts  of  prey  !  they  gave  to 
such  no  quarter.  They  had  worked  hard  for  husbands, 
and  had  merely  their  labor  for  their  pains.  The  fish  they 
thought  secure,  slipped  through  their  too  open  nets.  The 
prospect  of  old  maidenship  was  before  them ;  they  were 
utterly  discouraged  with  all  their  newly  acquired  philoso- 
phy. Mrs.  Catchpenny  could  not  but  perceive  the  "awful 
change"  in  the  world  towards  them — those  who  had 
been  most  forward  and  seemed  the  most  friendly  were 
those  who  particularly  avoided  her,  now  that  she  was  poor. 
She  took  her  experience  near  to  heart,  and  hugged  it  close- 
ly there.  It  was  hard  to  accept,  and  harder  still  to  cher- 
ish and  to  make  her  bed  fellow,  yet  she  gradually  warmed 
towards  it,  and  since  she  knew  it  to  be  truth,  she  made 
it  forever  her  own.  Her  hair  which  until  recently  was 
sprinkled  only  slightly  with  gray,  was  now  completely 
blanched ;  about  which  her  daughters  would  now  and  then 
speak  jestingly.  They  had  no  respect  for  their  mother, 
still  less  of  love  ;  and  rarely  gave  her  a  kind  or  even  re- 
spectful word.  They  said  their  mother  had  brought  them 
up  in  indolent  habits,  and  now  as  they  had  nothing  to  be 
grateful  for,  she  must  accept  from  them  such  usage  as  her 
training  might  inspire.  Mr.  Catchpenny  was  very  much 
broken  in  health,  and  he  never  expected  again  to  be  able 
to  recover  his  position.  He  had  lost  a  large  property, 
and  his  mind  was  shattered  by  the  catastrophe.  There 
was  none  to  pity  him  ;  he  had  made  no  real  true  friends ; 
this  was  not  in  his  nature.  All  his  transactions  had  been 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIFS.  241 

based  upon  the  closest  rules  of  business,  from  which  he 
never  swerved  —  to  accommodate  any  one;  and  he  was 
now  being  paid  in  his  own  coin ;  he  was  left  to  the  oper- 
ation of  those  close  rules  of  business  to  which  he  always 
with  so  much  pertinacity  adhered.  Yet  there  was  one 
being  in  the  world,  and  one  alone,  who  looked  upon  his 
situation  with  compassion,  and  who  had  determined  to  be 
his  friend.  This  was  William  Andrews,  whom  he  had 
dismissed  from  his  employ,  and  to  whom  he  nad  not 
spoken  from  that  day  to  the  present  time.  The  chagrin 
of  Old  Penniman,  the  disappearance  of  McAlpin  to  parts 
unknown,  the  death  of  Ida  Robertson,  together  with  the 
failure  of  the  Catchpennys,  had  caused  no  slight  commo- 
tion in  fashionable  circles,  wherein  is  discussed  the  excit- 
ing, exhilarating  topics  of  the  day,  and  where  persons  not 
unfrequently  draw  upon  their  imagination  for  facts  at 
pleasure.  Many  were  the  conjectures  as  to  the  where- 
abouts of  Mr.  James  McAlpin,  but  nobody  could  throw 
any  light  upon  the  subject  —  all  was  mystery  and  night ! 

Nelly  thought  he  had  gone  to  Texas,  Mrs.  Penniman 
was  sure  he  had  not  left  the  State.  Mrs.  Donothing  felt 
quite  confident  he  had  gone  t»  Canada ;  her  husband 
would  bet  the  best  bottle  of  brandy  to  be  had  in  the 
city,  that  he  had  left  for  the  Rocky  Mountains,  where  he 
intended  to  adopt  the  life  of  the  savage.  Mrs.  Touchme- 
not  thought  he  had  gone  to  Europe ;  "  her  mind  was  so 
much  upon  the  continent  "  just  at  that  time,  she  thought 
everybody's  else  must  be  also,  and  whenever  she  heard  of 
a  person's  disappearance,  she  invariably  concluded  they 
must  have  gone  to  Europe. 

"  McAlpin's  game,"  for  such  it  was  called,  was  a  nine 
day's  wonder,  and  then  nothing  more  was  said  out  of  the 
family,  and  but  little  in.  They  were  in  fact  glad  to  get 
rid  of  him  ;  and  "as  to  that  Donothing,"  they  would  be  glad 
of  his  absence  at  any  time ;  since  he  had  grown  to  be  an 
incorrigible  sot,  drinking  and  squandering  away  his  time 
to  no  purpose,  worthy  of  a  Christian  or  a  man.  In  bil- 
liard saloons,  at  race  courses,  at  bar  rooms  and  houses  of 
ill-fame,  he  was  well  known,  and  an  especial  favorite.  The 
women  flattered  him  for  his  money,  and  the  company  of 
billiard  and  bar  saloons,  for  his  companionship,  which  was 
well  suited  to  their  quality. 
11 


242  THE    PENNIMANS. 

The  "  Albion,"  then  in  charge  of  Major  Barton,  one  of 
the  most  affable  and  forbearing  of  men,  was  noted  for  its 
excellent  liquors,  which  Donothing  and  his  friends  fre- 
quently imbibed,  both  morning,  noon,  and  night ;  few  of 
the  major's  customers  of  that  day  are  still  in  the  places 
which  knew  them  then.  They  are  scattered  far  and  far. 
A  jollier  crowd  than  met  together  at  times  around  those 
marble  slabs,  whereon  mint  juleps,  cock- tails,  stone- walls, 
and  brandy-smashers  were  arranged,  is  rarely  to  be  seen  : 
and  a  more  unaffected  and  gracious  smile,  which  ever 
played  about  the  handsome  features  of  mine  host,  the 
landlord,  good  Major  Barton,  is  equally  as  rare  —  so  mild, 
attentive,  obliging,  and  self-possessed  ;  so  truly  the  gen- 
tleman in  all  things  —  who  can  remember  but  with  regret 
that  those  slabs,  those  nice  drinks,  and  all  those  associa- 
tions, alas,  have  passed  away  ;  but  not  the  major,  still  he 
lives,  as  cheerful,  as  cordial,  as  kind  as  ever  ;  and  long 
may  he  live,  as  a  hale  old  tree,  with  a  heart  unseared,  and 
a  spirit  free. 


CHAPTEE    XXVI. 

"  Would  you  raise  the  fallen  ?  love  them  I" 

OUE  hero,  William  Andrews,  having  devoted  his  entire 
energies  to  his  professional  pursuits,  succeeded  in  procur- 
ing a  most  lucrative  practice ;  and  as  envy  and  maliee 
and  all  uncharitableness  follow  in  the  path  of  success  and 
honor,  he  had  them,  of  course^  barking  at  his  heels.  Some 
thought  him  very  unscrupulous  and  mean  ;  others  thought 
him  arrogant,  too  confident,  and  uncompromising  ;  others 
did  not  think  him  flexible  enough ;  and  others  again  con- 
demned his  scholarship.  "  He  might  know  a  great  deal 
about  the  dodges  of  law  —  its  fictions  and  its  follies,  but 
it  was  very  evident  he  was  deficient  in  very  much  of  that 
reading  which,  as  Bacon  says,  makes  a  full  man."  He  was 
full  of  legal  quibbles,  they  were  ready  to  admit ;  could 
make  a  very  clever  special  plea,  and  do  all  the  work  of 
the  Bar,  creditably  and  even  with  more  than  usual  skill ; 
yet  he  was  no  such  remarkable  man  as  his  friends  and 
admirers  claimed  —  he  was  an  expert  lawyer,  but  noth- 
ing more. 

Andrews  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  the  va- 
rious opinions  current  as  to  his  merits  as  a  lawyer,  citizen, 
and  scholar.  He  was  well  satisfied  to  have  persons  esti- 
mate him  according  to  their  own  rules.  So  long  as  he 
commanded  the  best  business  at  the  Bar,  and  enjoyed  the 
confidence  and  esteem  of  its  most  honored  members,  and 
also  the  respect  of  the  best  men  of  all  professions,  he  had 
no  cause  of  dissatisfaction  or  complaint.  He  was  content, 
and  in  Agnes'  sweet  love  he  was  most  happy.  She  had 
deeply  interested  herself  in  her  husband's  pursuits,  and 
she  understood  perfectly  the  principles  of  the  current 
Law.  She  had  attentively  read  Blackstone  and  Coke  — 
she  had  closely  studied  the  civil  in  connection  with  the 


244  THE    PEXNIMANS;    OK, 


common  law,  and  this  vast  subject  of  Jurisprudence,  if  not 
in  its  details,  certainly  in  its  generalities,  was  distinctly 
marked  in  her  enquiring  mind.  She  passionately  loved 
her  husband  —  she  also  loved  everything  with  which  his 
fame  and  fortune  was  intertwined.  To  him  and  to  his 
ambition  she  gave  herself  up  wholly,  and  lived  in  those 
hopes  which  inspired  him  in  his  labors.  Towards  the 
Catchpenuys  in  their  distress  she  entertained  the  commis- 
eration of  a  true  Christian,  and  it  was  by  her  influence 
that  her  husband  was  enabled  to  wipe  from  his  mind  the 
remembrance  of  the  wrongs  he  had  suffered  at  their  hands 
—  to  forgive  and  forget  their  unkindness.  He  had  risen 
to  a  position,  "  in  the  good  Providence  of  God,"  in  which 
he  could  afford  to  be  magnanimous  —  his  brilliant  ad- 
vance into  favor  with  the  public  and  the  wealth  he  was 
rapidly  accumulating,  was  in  the  vision  of  the  Pennimans 
a  hateful  sight  —  they  could  not  endure  to  look  upon  his 
prosperity.  Now,  far  above  all  those  who  had  been  his 
traducers,  he  looked  about  him  with  the  calm  conscious- 
ness of  power,  and  with  intense  scorn  surveyed  the  im- 
potence of  his  enemies.  He  had  illustrated  to  society  in 
general,  and  to  the  Pennimans  in  particular,  that  he  though 
the  son  of  a  musician  was  ever  a  King,  and  at  all  times, 
immeasurably  the  superior  of  those  who  had  sneered  at 
his  origin. 

From  Lexington  they  had  moved  into  the  city,  and 
occupied  a  spacious  mansion  which  Mr.  Andrews  had  pur- 
chased at  a  great  bargain.  It  was  well  located  upon  a 
pleasant  and  fashionable  street,  and  at  their  door  might 
daily  be  seen  standing  the  private  carriages  of  those  per- 
sons who  honor  wealth  and  genius.  With  Agnes  Farri- 
day  they  were  charmed  ;  her  natural  manner,  her  warm 
impulses  ;  her  fine  conversational  powers,  her  bjamy,  elo- 
quent, deep,  dark  eyes,  all  combined,  threw  around  her 
an  indescribable  fascination  which  must  be  experienced 
to  be  truly  known.  The  poor  came  to  her  without  fear 
or  trembling,  for  they  knew  in  "  dear  Mrs.  Andrews  they 
would  always  find  a  sympathizing  and  active  friend  ;  "  they 
worshipped  her  virtues,  with  unfeigned  gratitude  and  af- 
fection. She  was  so  kind,  always  having  a  smile  for  them, 
and  a  word  of  sweet  encouragement. 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  245 

Never  went  unfriended  from  her  door, 

The  honest,  simple,  truly  Christian  poor; 

She  gave  with  cheerful  heart  and  willing  hand, 

For  God  —  her  Saviour,  Christ  !  thus  men  command  ! 

If  in  their  face  the  lines  of  deep  despair  she  saw, 

Her  loving  conscience  lingered  there  the  more. 

Her  efforts  in  behalf  of  the  prostitute  were  unceasing, 
and  many  a  noble-hearted  and  intelligent  woman,  owed  to 
her  magnanimity  and  sense  of  Christian  duty  the  happi- 
ness of  being  reformed  from  the  arts  of  the  wanton,  to 
the  ennobling  habits  of  honorable  service,  in  the  smiling 
and  fragrant  fields  of  virtue.  She  went  to  them  as  she 
had  gone  to  Irene  Caruthers,  not  with  censure,  not  with 
an  overbearing  consciousness  of  superior  worth,  but  with 
the  earnestness  of  humility,  and  with  the  sincerity  of  truth 
—  nor  did  she  make  this  labor  of  love  a  pastime,  but  a 
solemn  duty  enjoined  by  the  life  and  teachings  of  Jesus. 
She  spoke  in  the  sweet  and  winning  tones,  of  charity  and  of 
unfeigned  sympathy,  and  those  who  heard  her  voice,  cap- 
able of  appreciating  her  nature,  could  not  resist  the  as- 
surance which  it  gave  them  that  good  deeds,  and  worthy 
thoughts  and  emotions,  were  a  blessing  to  all  those  who 
practised  them.  And  thus  she  affected  the  reform  of 
many  a  misdirected  sister,  who  needed  but  the  right 
method  of  friendship  exerted  in  their  behalf,  to  become 
united  once  more  to  a  happy  and  honorable  career.  In 
the  reformation  of  this  particular  quality  of  vice,  there  is 
required  the  exercise  of  no  little  art.  Each  individual 
case  not  unfrequently  requires  an  especial  treatment,  in 
the  same  manner  as  disease  of  the  body  ;  for  vice  is  but 
a  distemper  of  the  moral  nature ;  and  those  whom  we 
would  cure  or  relieve,  we  must  patiently  attend  and  study. 
Something  more  is  needed  than  to  pack  them  together  in 
koines.  They  require  to  feel  that  there  are  those  who  love 
them  truly,  and  whose  happiness  depend  upon  the  full  and 
permanent  reform  of  their  habits,  and  complete  restitution 
to  thi  esteem  of  such  society,  as  they  are  mentally  quali- 
fied to  enjoy.  Inspire  them  with  the  consciousness  that 
they  are  loved,  as  are  the  most  virtuous  of  the  fair  chil- 
dren of  God !  and  if  they  are  not  utterly  lost  in  crime, 
they  will  respond  to  the  true  unmistakable  sympathies 


246  THE    PEXNIMANS;    OK, 

of  the  Christian  heart  and  mind.  We  know  in  this  city, 
ay,  in  every  city  of  our  favored  land,  there  are  hundreds 
and  thousands  of  capable  minds,  appreciative  of  noble 
qualities  in  mankind,  who  are  engaged  in  the  walks  of 
prostitution,  because  they  have  no  confidence  whatever  in 
the  human  heart ;  they  believe,  life  in  all  its  departments, 
is  one  of  crime,  and  they  think  it  is  impossible  for  them 
to  get  their  living  unassisted  by  falsehood.  They  are 
women  of  keen  perceptions,  and  see  matters  as  they  really 
are.  Would  you  go  to  such  persons  with  the  invitation 
of  reform,  and  invite  them  to  leave  comfortable  lodgings 
and  cheerful  company,  for  the  daily  toil  of  the  needle  or 
the  wash-tub,  so  seldom  fairly  paid,  and  so  still  more 
rarely  remunerated  ?  They  would  not  heed  you,  they 
would  laugh  you  to  scorn,  and  in  a  moment  of  indigna- 
tion might  thurst  you  from  their  door,  for  in  all  this  they 
see  but  the  sentiment  of  piety,  which  they  can  entertain  as 
well  as  you,  and  many  of  them  do  from  the  force  of  that 
sentiment,  when  the  "  regular  unexceptionably  moral 
church-goerj  prayful  citizen,"  merely  whines  and  prates 
of  misery.  They  do  good  deeds,  with  ill-gotten  gains,  it 
is  true ;  but  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  their  offering  must  be 
more  prized,  certainly  as  much  so,  as  that  which  virtue 
gives  ofttimes  so  grudgingly.  Would  you  reform  these 
women,  reform  yourselves !  Let  them  see  that  there  is 
indeed  more  happiness,  more  justice,  more  peace,  more 
honor,  more  love,  more  enduring  sympathy,  in  your  hearts 
and  minds,  than  in  theirs,  and  you  may  be  assured  they 
will  speedily  fly  to  habits  which  offer  so  superior  advan- 
tages. But  don't  ask  them  to  go  from  ease,  from  pleasant 
friendships,  though  irregular,  to  fret  themselves  in  homes 
where  the  pride  of  domineering  self-sufficient  virtue  is 
disgusting  and  pitiful  to  behold.  Because  they  will  not 
heed  you,  nor  would  it  be  human  nature,  nor  Christ's  na- 
ture, if  they  should.  He  scorned  the  self-righteous  Phari- 
see, and  so  do  all  smart  women  of  the  town  those  charities, 
which,  in  their  operation  humiliates,  instead  of  ennobling 
and  strengthening  them  in  a  confidence  of  the  human 
heart's  sincerity,  and  impartial  love. 

In  Agnes,  they  believed  ;  they  saw  she  professed  no 
more  interest  in  their  happiness  than  she  was  ready  and 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  247 

willing  to  demonstrate  :  they  saw  when  she  asked  a  wo- 
man to  lead  a  moral  life,  she  took  the  precaution  to  ascer- 
tain Jirst,  that  that  life  could  be  made  more  attractive  than 
the  one  to  which  "  the  fallen "  was  addicted.  She  in- 
spired such  with  self-respect,  and  placed  them  amid  asso- 
ciations agreeable  to  their  feelings  ;  and  few  were  the 
women  whom  she  fascinated  into  honorable  pursuits,  who 
did  not  devotedly  adhere  to  them  for  "  her  dear  sake." 
And  this,  and  this  alone,  is  the  spirit  which  must  be 
aroused  in  those  we  would  reform,  if  we  would  make  the 
change  permanent  —  for  another's  sake,  and  not  so  much  for 
'their  own,  must  they  live  and  adhere  to  the  habits,  staid 
as  they  are,  of  chastity  and  reform.  In  this  sympathy 
they  are  safe  and  strong ;  without  it  they  are  ever  in  peril. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

11  He  who  can  forgive  an  injury, 
May  be  trusted  as  a  friend.'" 

WE  have  said,  Mrs.  Andrews,  towards  the  dejected  and 
hopelessly  broken  down  Catchpennys,  bore  a  kindly  feel- 
ing, and  urged  the  same  upon  her  husband. 

One  afternoon  towards  the  close  of  a  pleasant  autumn 
day,  when  the  trees  had  fully  assumed  their  dress  of  many 
golden  and  purple  hues,  and  when  the  ground  was 
covered  by  the  fallen  leaves,  approaching  a  low,  dingy 
looking  house  on  the  road  to  one  of  the  neighboring  thriv- 
ing towns,  was  seen  a  handsome  carriage  and  a  lively  span 
of  horses,  driven  by  our  hero  William  Andrews,  with 
Agnes  by  his  side.  The  house  was  the  residence  of  the 
Catchpennys,  whose  present  poverty  was  in  marked  con- 
trast with  the  elegance  in  which  they  lived,  when  Andrews 
was  discharged  from  their  service.  As  they  drove  up  to 
the  door,  Mr.  Catchpenny  came  out  to  meet  them,  and 
with  a  degree  of  condescension  he  could  not  have  sub- 
mitted to  in  years  gone  by,  took  charge  of  Mr.  Andrews' 
horses,  and  thereupon  made  the  most  obsequious  compli- 
ments. He  had  lost  his  haughty  manners,  and  in  the 
place  of  a  severe  imperious  frown,  all  now  was  smiles,  and 
compromise.  Misfortune  had  been  of  service  to  him ;  it 
had  improved  his  way  of  thinking,  essentially,  and  there 
were  those  in  whom  he  could  recognize,  now,  the  essen- 
tials of  manhood  as  well  as  in  himself.  His  head  was  not 
tossed  on  high,  as  in  former  days,  but  modestly  hung 
about  his  shoulders.  He  felt  assured  he  was  not  the  only 
one  worthy  of  pantheonic  honors.  He  bowed  to  persons 
graciously,  and  even  went  out  of  his  way  to  speak  to 
those,  who,  in  the  past,  he  deemed  as  carrion.  "  Mrs. 
Catchpenny  and  her  girls,"  were  equally  well  instructed 
in  very  different  and  more  agreeable  manners  than  those 


THE    THIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  249 

they  had  been  in  the  habit  of  while  of  "  our  very  best 
society."  They  "  found  it  hard  "  to  be  on  terms  of  asso- 
ciation "  with  those  to  whose  society  alone  they  at  this  time 
had  access,  yet  they  had  determined  "  to  make  the  best  of 
the  world  —  of  whoever  and  whatever  they  meet  with  in  it. 
As  Agnes  and  her  husband  entered  the  house,  they 
were  met  at  the  door  by  "  Mrs.  Catchpenny  and  her  girls," 
as  they  were  called  by  the  Penniman  set ;  and  such  a 
hospitable  welcome,  as  they  received,  was  a  happy  com- 
ment upon  the  prestige  of  success  and  power.  Mr.  Catch- 
penny, with  all  the  aptitude  of  a  lackey,  had  driven  the 
horses  into  the  town  not  far  distant,  that  he  might  procure 
the  services  of  a  blacksmith,  to  replace  a  shoe  which  had 
been  knocked  from  the  fore-hoof  of  one  of  the  animals. 
This  shoe  had  been  preserved  by  Mr.  Andrews,  who  had 
been  at  an  extra  expense  to  have  his  horses  shod  in  the 
best  possible  manner.  He  told  Catchpenny  to  be  sure 
and  have  the  shoe  replaced,  as  no  other  would  suit  him  ; 
and  thereupon  he  placed  a  check  for  $10,000  in  his  hand 
with  this  note  : 

"  MY  DEAB  SIR  :  —  The  tables  are  turned —  you  are 
down,  I  am  up.  You  have  not  used  me  well  in  times 
past ;  but,  sir,  knowing  the  weaknesses  of  all  flesh  as  I 
very  well  do,  I  thank  God  I  can  forgive  affronts.  All  I 
ask  of  you  in  return  for  this  favor,  is,  that  you  will  use  it 
prudently  —  go  off  West,  re-establish  yourself  in  business, 
and  support  again  your  family  —  and  be  ever  a  man,  not  a 
fashionable  fool,  looking  to  style  alone  for  happiness  and 
respectability,  but  a  good  solid  citizen,  and  a  sincere 
Christian.  If  you  are  all  this,  you  will  be  grateful  for 
my  patronage,  and  in  time  of  need  you  will  think  of  and 
will  do  for  me  and  mine.  Remember  if  you  succeed  with 
this  capital  I  now  loan  you,  I  will  add  thereto  more,  and 
you  shall  again  rise  to  the  position  of  a  first  class  mer- 
chant. I  am  your  friend  —  don't  abuse  the  trust. 

Yours,  ANDREWS." 

.  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  although  she  had  abused  the  "  con- 
fidential clerk,"   admired  in  an  inexpressible  degree   the 
handsome  and  talented  lawyer.     She  took  both  his  and  Ag- 
11* 


250  THE    TENXIMANS;    OR, 

nes'  hand,  and  warmly  pressed  them  to  her  bosom.  Agnes 
had  of  late  made  her  several  visits  ;  but  her  husband  had 
never  been  in  her  society,  since  the  memorable  evening  of 
Mrs.  Touchmenot's  discomfiture,  although  he  had  often 
met  her  on  the  street,  and  likewise  her  daughters. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Andrews,  the  wheel  of  fortune  makes  sad 
work  sometimes,"  remarked  Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  If  I 
haven't  had  my  full  taste  of  the  dirt  of  poverty,  then 
never  a  woman  had ;  and  these  girls  of  mine  are  perfect 
nettles  in  my  sides." 

"  You  shouldn't  have  any  sides,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  as 
she  sat  at  the  window  with  her  needle  making  a  dress  for 
Laura,  her  sister.  "  What  business  have  people,  I  should 
like  to  know,  with  sides,  who  have  got  no  bottom.  You 
know  what  they  say  of  a  horse,  if  he's  got  no  bottom,  knock 
him  on  the  head.  Just  so  the  world,  (which  is  no  more  nor 
less  than  a  heartless  slave-driver,  both  North  and  South,) 
thinks  and  too  often  says  of  women.  She's  not  only  expect- 
ed to  bear  children,  actually  institute  society  and  keep  it 
alive,  but  in  addition,  she  is  called  upon  to  provide  for  all 
its  wants.  I  don't  really  see  in  the  majority  of  instances 
what  men  were  sent  into  the  world  for  unless  to  loaf,  marry, 
and  '  talk  big.'  They  are  always  talking  '  big  things,' 
but  doing  nothing,  save  filling  silly  women's  heads  full  of 
nonsense,  and  getting  them  into  trouble." 

"  Well,  they  never  got  you  into  any  trouble,  did  they  ?  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  You  are  always  running 
the  men.  It's  a  pity  they  hadn't  put  you  in  a  good  humor 
by  just  making  the  attempt." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Andrews,  you  can  see  just  what  from  day 
to  day  I  have  to  endure,"  ejaculated  Fanny  ;  "  if  any 
other  person  had  said  that  much  to  me,  I  would  have 
knocked  the  creature  down ;  but  a  parent  is  privileged  / 
God  save  me  from  ever  being  a  parent." 

"  Bah  ! "  muttered  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  her  eye  darting 
fire. 

"  Why,  why,  Miss  Fanny,"  caid  Mr.  Andrews,  "you 
are  not  near  as  good-natured  as  you  used  to  be.  You 
ought  not  to  let  a  little  trouble  set  so  ill  at  ease  upon 
you." 

"  Oh,   you  've   gone   up  !  "    exclaimed   Fanny.     "  It's 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  251 

very  well  for  you  to  talk.     I've  talked  once  myself,  and  I 
know  what  a  luxury  it  is." 

"  Yes,"  exclaimed  Laura,  "and  so  do  I  —  to  be  able  to 
tell  people  how  they  ought  to  be  resigned  to  calicoes  and 
baked  beans,  while  one  feasts  on  the  best  the  market 
affords  and  plenty  of  it,  and  splurges  around  in  silks  and 
satins,  and  their  '  private  carriage.'  Oh,  —  ah  —  it's  all 
very  fine — to  advise  under  such  circumstances.  I've 
done  the  very  same  thing  myself,  and  I  know  how  pleas- 
ant it  is  —  but  all  I've  to  do  now  is  to  listen,  and  to  be 
appreciative  of  all  the  good  advice  and  sympathy  which 
drops  along  the  current  of  meddlesome  and  officious  hu- 
manity." 

"  Well,  now,  my  dear,  you  must  stop  such  conversa- 
sion,"  vociferated  Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  What  will  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Andrews  think  of  us ;  they  certainly  will  con- 
clude, we  have  become  perfectly  uncivilized  through  mis- 
fortune. Mrs.  Andrews,  I  beg  you  will  excuse  anything 
which  may  appear  odd  in  my  daughters  —  they  are  old 
enough  to  know  better,  and  do  know  better,  but  I  am 
sorry  to  say  a  change  of  fortune  has  made  them  bitter  and 
reckless :  "  and  as  she  said  this  she  wiped  a  tear  from  her 
eye. 

"  Bitter  and  reckless :  "  muttered  both  Laura  and  Fanny. 
"  Mrs.  Andrews  don't  you  believe  a  word  of  it,"  con- 
tinued Fanny.  "  Mother  is  always  misrepresenting  us  — 
finding  fault  —  fault  —  fault  —  the  whole  time." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  Laura.  "  There  are  few 
daughters  who  would  not  have  been  driven  from  her  pres- 
ence long  ago." 

"  Well,  go  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny.  "  You  un- 
grateful cieatures,  go  —  go  !  get  out  of  my  sight.  — I  am 
sure  I  want  no  one  by  me  who  wishes  to  be  elsewhere." 

"There — there,  that's  just  the  way  it  is — Mrs.  An- 
drews — '"we  never  can  speak  our  mind,  without  she  flies 
nto  a  passion  ; "  and  as.  Fanny  concluded  she  looked  at 
ler  mother  frowningly. 

"  Don't  you  dare  —  don't  you  dare  browbeat  me," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  "  or  faith,  —  you  shall  go  ! 
.'11  be  as  earnest  as  you.  After  all  the  trouble  I  have 
iiad  in  bringing  you  into  the.  world  —  in  educating  you  "  — 


252  THE    PENNIMANS;    OR, 

"  There  —  there,  there,"  interrupted  Laura.  "  Do  hold 
on  —  do  hold  on,  I  pray  you." 

"  Then  behave  yourselves  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catch- 
penny. "  I'll  have  you  to  know  I  am  your  mother  still, 
and  by  my  soul,  you  shall  respect  me ;  or  I'll  drive  you 
from  my  presence." 

"  She's  under  high  pressure  just  now,"  whispered  Fan- 
ny to  Laura ;  "  let  her  alone  —  let  her  alone,  or  she'll 
burst." 

"  Such  girls  — such  doings  —  such  talk  is  abominable," 
continued  Mrs.  Catchpenny ;  "  and  1  —  I  —  do  hope  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Andrews,  that  you  will  not  report  us  to  your  friends  ; 
for  they  will  indeed  think  us  degraded  to  the  very  lowest 
round  of  fortune's  ladder." 

"  Oh,  be  not  concerned  about  this,"  replied  our  hero. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Agnes.  "  Our  visit  to  you  is  one  of 
mercy  and  love  ;  we  are  no  news-mongers  —  no  inform- 
ers ;  we  know  life,  my  dear  madam,  quite  well,  we  know 
the  inconvenience  of  poverty,  its  deprivations,  the  sorrow 
of  a  fall  from  rank." 

"  Yes,  ladies  all,  we  feel  for,  we  sympathize  with  your 
hardships,"  remarked  our  hero.  "  And  we  profess  to  be, 
and  shall  prove  to  be,  your  firm  devoted  friends.  Think 
not  that  I  cherish  one  unkind  memory  of  the  past ;  all  is 
wiped  away.  We  profess  to  believe  in  the  life  of  Christ 
—  we  mean  to  do,  as  near  as  we  may,  by  all  our  fellow 
creatures,  as  his  doctrines  enjoin.  Believe  us  then  —  have 
confidence  in  us  —  and  hope  through  us,  for  better  days." 

"Isn't  that  Andrews  to  a  dot?"  whispered  Fanny  to 
Laura.  "  He's  noble,  there's  no  doubt  of  that  —  whoever 
calls  him  poor  stock,  lies  !  " 

Mrs.  Catchpenny,  who  had  nearly  recovered  from  her 
angry  mood,  expressed  herself  most  grateful  for  the  kind 
professions  of  her  visitors,  nor  did  she  doubt  of  their  sin- 
cerity ;  but  secretly  she  felt  deeply  grieved  that  her  situa- 
tion was  such  as  to  oblige  her  to  accept  of  the  good  offices 
of  William  Andrews  and  his  lady.  She  could  not,  how- 
ever, afford  to  decline  the  friendly  aid  of  any  one,  least 
of  all  that  of  those  who  had  risen  so  rapidly  into  fame 
and  power.  Fanny  and  Laura  did  not  so  much  regard 
the  means  of  relief,  so  that  they  procured  again  some  sort 


IHE    TBIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  253 

of  assistance,  which  would  place  them  in  society  they 
could  once  more  enjoy.  They  felt  as  outcasts,  now,  from 
those  whose  respect  they  most  desired,  and  which  in  their 
palmy  days,  they  uninterruptedly  seemed  to  command. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Andrews,"  said  Laura,  "  we  never  thought 
to  need  your  sympathies,  under  just  such  circumstances." 

"  No,  indeed,''  muttered  Fanny. 

"  But  we  are  most  thankful  for  them  ;  "  remarked  the 
mother  with  a  strong  emphasis ;  "  we  are  always  grateful 
even  for  the  smallest  favors." 

"  Just  hear  her  run  on,"  whispered  Fanny  to  Laura ; 
"  she  knows  perfectly  well  it  goes  against  her  grain 
mightily  to  accept  of  any  favors  from  them."" 

"  Well,  no  matter,"  returned  Laura  in  a  whisper  ;  "  if 
she  can  use  them,  I  hope  to  mercy  she  will  do  so  —  for 
we  do  want  assistance,  Heaven  knows,  bad  enough —  and 
assistance  we  must  have  soon,  or  to  the  poor-house  we 
must  march,  in  double  quick." 

"  Well  Fanny,"  said  Agnes,  "  what  are  you  plotting, 
with  your  head  so  close  to  Laura  ?"  nothing  against  the 
liberties  of  your  country  I  hope,  or  —  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  interrupted  Fanny,  "  against  no  one's  rights 
would  I  conspire.  I  want  my  own  —  that's  all." 

"  Well,  those  you  should  have,"  responded  Agnes ; 
"  and  as  I  am  a  pretty  good  lawyer,  I  promise  you,  you 
shall  have  them." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  returned  Fanny  ;  "  how  well 
she  feels  to  be  sure,"  continued  she  iu  a  whisper  to 
Laura ;  "  she's  got  a  smart  husband,  and  so  she  thinks 
she  can  caracol ;  she'll  break  her  precious  neck,  if  she 
doesn't  mind,  and  then  —  " 

"  She'll  prance  no  more,"  interrupted  Laura. 

"  And  I  should  be  glad,"  returned  Fanny,  "  for  then  I'd 
have  another  chance  at  him;  and  he  should  not  escape 
me,  I  promise  you." 

*'  What  are  your  heads  so  much  together  for,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Catchpenny  ;  "  I  should  think  women  as  old  as  you 
are  would  pay  more  respect  to  conventional  rules." 

"  I  don't  object,  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  to  a  suspension  of 
these  rules,"  remarked  Mr.  Andrews  ;  "  on  the  contrary, 
I  always  am  pleased  to  have  persons  perfectly  natural ;  it 


254  THE    PENNIMANSJ    OB, 

seems  to  me  this,  among  friends,  is  the  only  true  law  of 
society." 

"  I  certainly  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Andrews. 

"There,"  whispered  Fanny  to  Laura,  "you  see  she 
thinks  just  as  he  does,  of  course."  Then  turning  to  Mr. 
Andrews,  she  continued,  "  Mr.  Andrews,  what  a  pity  it 
is,  we  cannot  foresee  events  ;  I  never  should  have  let  you 
slipped  through  my  fingers  into  Agnes'  bosom  if  I  had 
only  suspected  even,  you  promised  so  well." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Fanny,"  said  Agnes  ;  "  you  are  not  the 
first  woman  who  has  slighted  her  opportunities  ;  who  has 
not  seen  the  gold  amid  the  sand." 

"  No,  I  believe  you,"    returned  Fanny. 

"  Well,  Fanny,"  remarked  our  hero,  "  you  are  what 
•we  should  call  in  court,  a  very  embarrassing  witness ;  you 
speak  so  freely  your  mind." 

"  Where,  oh,  where's  the  use  of  a  mind,  unless  one 
can  make  it  speak  ?  answer  me  that  question,  if  you 
please,"  rejoined  Fanny,  sharply. 

"  Well,  you  know,"  returned  the  lawyer,  "  some  of  us 
don't  deem  it  always  best  to  say  precisely  what  we  think, 
at  all  times  and  in  all  places ;  because  it  happens  often 
that  much  is  said  by  imprudent  lips  which  would  gladly 
be  recalled." 

**  You've  got  it  now,  Fanny,  plump  in  the  eye,"  whis- 
pered Laura ;  "  you  had  better  not  tackle  the  lawyers,  but 
keep  shady." 

"  Oh,"  remarked  Agnes,  "  we  women  must  have  our 
say,  and  all  must  peaceably  submit  to  that  right." 

"  You  see,"  whispered  Fanny  to  Laura,  "  she  is  talking 
now  for  kindness'  sake  ;  she  doesn't  believe  one  word  of  it. 
She  would  not  have  any  woman  to  say  '  bo,  bo,  bo,'  but 
herself,  if  she  could  prevent  it ;  and  as  to  Andrews,  he  may 
say  what  he  pleases,  but  any  one  can  see  from  his  face  that 
he  is  an  out —  and  —  out  aristocrat.  Just  look  at  that  eye, 
will  you,  and  then  tell  me,  he  doesn't  feel  well,  if  you  can 
—  he  is  just  as  oaty  as  he  can  be." 

"  That's  so,"  returned  Laura. 

"  Whispering  again  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catchpenny ; 
"  if  you  don't  stop  that  work,  I'll  withdraw  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Andrews  from  the  room.  I  have  brought  you  up  both  to 


THE    TKIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  255 

know  that  it  is  most  impolite  when  equals  and  superiors 
are  present,  to  whisper  or  to  giggle,  and  I  am  determined 
to  have  no  more  of  it.  Now  stop  such  doings  at  once. 
I  don't  care  if  you  are  of  age,  you  shall  respect  the  edu- 
cation I  have  given  you,  so  long  as  we  continue  under 
one  roof.  If  you  go  elsewhere  I've  nothing  to  say,  but 
if  you  stay  with  me,  you  must  and  shall  be  ladies." 

"  Well,  that  is  smart,"  whispered  Laura. . 

"  Yes,"  returned  Fanny,  "  she's  full  of  steam  to-day, 
and  blow  it  off  she  will." 

"  Why,  mother,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  "  you  are  so  violent 
you  fairly  shake  my  nerves  ;  and  I  am  sure  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Andrews  are  suffering  from  spasms.  Do  be  a  little 
more  passive." 

"  You  are  enough,  both  of  you,  to  wear  away  the  pa- 
tience of  the  most  gentle.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Andrews  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  us  all ;  we  are  in  misfortune's  train,  and 
cannot  seem  otherwise  than  objects  to  be  pitied,"  replied 
the  mother';  and  at  these  words  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Such  daughters  !  oh,  such  daughters  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
"  and  such  an  inactive,  fear-stricken  husband,  no  woman 
ever  yet  had  to  endure." 

"  Ah,  madam,"  replied  our  hero,  "  calm  your  excited 
mind  ;  your  husband  has  labored  under  great  embarrass- 
ments, with  no  friends ;  can  you  wonder  he  is  impassive 
and  timid  —  who  would  not  be,  knowing  the  world,  as  he 
knows  it,  as  /  know  it,  as  you  must  know  it  —  remember 
when  the  wind  is  fair^  and  the  sea  smooth,  and  the  sky 
unclouded,  our  bark  of  life  glides  lightly  o'er  the  wave, 
and  all  delight  to  bid,  God-speed  ;  but  when  amid  the 
breakers,  oh,  then,  how  changed  the  scene !  Have  charity 
for  your  husband  ;  he  will  yet  support  you  well.  /  have 
willed  it !  " 

"  Ay,  sir ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Catchpenny,  as  he  walked 
into  the  room,  a  tear  in  his  eye  and  a  smile  on  his  lip  ;  "  you 
have  commanded,  and  I  will  obey  —  cheerfully.  Ah,  my 
dear,  dear  Andrews,  give  me  your  hand,  and  come  here 
close  to  my  heart.  Till  now,  I  have  not  believed  in  human 
nature,  nor  had  any  trust  in  God.  I  have  seen  but  policy 
and  self-interest  —  distrust  in  all.  I  have  looked  upon  ex- 
istence as  an  accident — upon  the  grave,  as  the  end  of  ends  ! 


256  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OK, 

But  with  this  day's  experience  I  awake  to  a  new  life,  for 
in  your  bounty  I  recognize  in  man  that  only  which  can 
come  from  God  !  —  forgiveness  of  insult,  injustice,  abuse  of 
power  !  ay,  and  even  friendship  for  him,  who  meted  out  evil 
to  you.  Wife,  children,  behold  in  these  two  beings  the  ap- 
pointed of  heaven  to  conduct  us  to  prosperity  and  self- 
respect  again  —  from  hell  they  have  taken  us,  and  opened 
to  us  fairer  realms.  I  hold  within  my  hand  a  check  for 
$10,000,  the  property  of  Mr.  Andrews,  loaned  to  me  for 
business  purposes,  with  the  promise  of  as  much  more  as  I 
may  profitably  use.  Thus,  through  his  success  in  life, 
which  we  would  have  denied  him,  I  am  a  man  again  ! 
Is  not  the  hand  of  God  in  this  ?  From  no  other  human 
being  could  I  hope  for  such  confidence  and  esteem  and  lib- 
erality ;  bless  him  all  of  you,  for  he  is  your  saviour  !  your 
dearest  friend ! " 

Mrs.  Catchpenny  had  swooned  in  her  chair  from  excess 
of  rapture,  and  Fanny  and  Laura,  exhilarated  with  the 
hope  of  once  again  shining  in  society,  rushed  at  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Andrews,  and  overwhelmed  them  with  caresses. 

Mr.  Catchpenny  gave  his  personal  attention  to  his  wife, 
who  soon  recovered  her  normal  condition.  Rising  from 
her  chair  she  passed  to  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Andrews  were 
standing,  and  affectionately  taking  their  hands,  said,  in 
tones  of  deep  feeling,  "  My  dear  friends,  I  thank  you, 
may  God  bless  you  for  this  noble,  unselfish  deed.  May 
your  lives  flow  on  in  happiness,  and  your  deaths  be  as  the 
dropping  of  the  leaves." 

"  Why,  did  you  ever  hear  mother  so  musical  before  ?  " 
whispered  Fanny  to  Laura,  "  this  is  true  poetry,  and  you 
know  how  she  has  always  hated  it." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Laura;  "  but  such  a  character  as  that 
of  Andrews  is  enough  to  fill  all  life  with  song.  Suppose 
every  one  was  like  him,  would  not  this  earth  be  heaven  ? 
who  would,  or  could  suffer." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  continued  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  "  let  never  the 
past  intrude  upon  our  friendship  of  the  future ;  let  us  have 
true  faith  in  each  other,  and  firm  trust  in  God." 

"  It  is,  my  dear  Mrs.  Catchpenny,"  remarked  Agnes, 
"  my  wish  to  have  all  as  you  desire." 

"  And  so,  too,  'tis  mine,"  said  Andrews ;  "  I  would  have 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  257 

the  future  of  us  all,  a  lesson  worthy  of  ourselves  ;  I  would 
have  truth  our  guiding  star,  and  death  no  sting." 

"  It  shall  be  so,"  remarked  Mr.  Catchpenny.  "  You 
will  behold  in  us  all  the  practice  of  those  noble  virtues, 
you  have  taught  us  is  the  heritage  of  man.  Shall  it  not 
be  so,  my  children  —  wife  —  speak." 

"For  myself,  I  most  emphatically  answer,  yes,"  re- 
sponded Fanny. 

"  And  I  the  same,"  replied  Laura. 

"  No  words  can  speak  my  gratitude  and  joy,''  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Catchpenny ;  "  you  may  safely  depend  on 
me." 

Laura,  then  casting  an  enquiring  eye  at  the  lawyer,  ex- 
claimed, "  Well,  I  always  told  you,  you  never  sounded 
Mr.  Andrew's  depths,  and  I  don't  think  you  have  reached 
bottom  yet." 

Fanny,  then  taking  him  by  the  arm,  and  still  laughing 
at  Laura's  no  soundings,  exclaimed,  "  Turn  around  to  the 
light  where  I  can  see  you,  and  find  out  whether  you  are 
in  right  good  earnest  or  not ;  you  know  an  old  belle  may 
take  liberties  with  an  old  beau  ; "  and  as  she  concluded 
these  words,  she  kissed  him,  looking  slyly  at  Agnes. 

"Oh,  I  don't  object,"  remarked  Mrs.  Andrews,  "  not 
in  the  least.  In  serving  you  as  friends,  we  would  have 
you  frank  and  free." 

This  was  a  happy  day  and  still  happier  hour  for  the 
Catchpennys ;  they  went  from  freezing  point  to  summer 
heat,  and  acquired  speedily  the  blithesomeness  of  larks. 
Mr.  Catchpenny  had  already  got  his  head  up  in  its  former 
position,  and  Mrs.  Catchpenny's  hair  seemed  turning  black 
again.  Their  admiration  for  our  hero  and  his  lady  was 
unbounded,  and  their  caresses  were  warm  and  sincere. 
As  they  left  the  house  for  the  city,  the  blessing  of  God 
was  freely  invoked  by  all  the  family. 

Andrews  turning  to  Fanny  and  Laura,  who  were  stand- 
ing close  to  the  carriage  step  laughing  at  the  felicitious  wit 
of  Agnes,  patted  both  of  them  under  the  chin,  saying  jo- 
cosely, "Don't  you  ever  dare  to  turn  up  your  noses  at  me 
again."  With  this  he  cracked  the  whip  and  away  dashed 
the  handsome  couple,  as  the  dust  rolled  up  from  beneath 
the  square  tread  of  the  highly-metaled  span.  Whenever 


258  THE    PENNIMA.NS. 

the  eye  of  any  one  passing  on  the  road  met  those  of 
Agnes  and  her  husband,  instinctively  they  stopped,  and 
gazed  in  admiration  and  surprise.  "  What  a  splendid 
couple,"  was  the  exclamation  of  all. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"  Insulting  chance  n'er  called  with  louder  voice, 
On  swelling  mortals  to  be  proud  no  more." 

"  Old  enemies  who  have  become  new  friends, 
Should  so  continue  —  'tis  a  point  of  honor." 

THE  Catchpennys  had  learned  by  experience ;  and  Mrs. 
Catchpenny  said,  "  Pride  must  have  a  fall ;  we  must  be 
proud  no  more ;  only  of  character —  of  noble  deeds  ;  "  to 
which  all  the  others  said  "  Amen."  They  were  quite 
willing  to  leave  the  "  city  of  notions  "  —  they  had  had 
enough  of  east  winds,  and  heartless  conventionalisms  — 
they  were  unanimously  of  the  opinion  that  of  all  places 
on  the  face  of  the  earth,  Boston  was  the  last  for  persons 
to  build  up  any  hopes  in,  of  recovering  their  position  when 
once  it  had  been  lost.  The  more  worthy  of  encourage- 
ment they  might  be,  the  more  they  would  be  neglected 
and  despised.  So  thought  the  Catchpennys  —  they 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  those  in  whose  "  sets " 
they  had  once  been  "  so  much  esteemed  and  petted.'' 
They  heartily  wished  themselves  out  of  the  State  of  Mas- 
sachusetts and  Yankee  land,  generally :  "  they  did  think  of 
all  the  mean,  stinking  trash,  (in  the  eastern  hemisphere, 
at  least,)  Yankees  and  Bostonians  par  excellence,  outstrip- 
ped any  and  everything  they  had  ever  heard  or  seen." 

"  Any  place,"  said  Laura,  "  where  its  city  government 
will  take  advantage  of  a  legal  quibble  to  avoid  the  pay- 
ment of  a  just  debt,  to  a  worthy  officer  for  capturing  at 
the  peril  of  his  life,  a  great  criminal  for  whose  apprehen- 
sion and  delivery  into  the  custody  of  this  city  govern- 
ment, a  handsome  reward  was  offered  —  any  man  or 
corporation  who  will  be  guilty  of  such  indefensible  mean- 
ness, niggerism  as  this  —  I  want  to  escape  from  as  soon 
as  possible.  So,  father,  let  us  pack  up  our  effects  and  go 
West  or  South  —  anywhere  out  of  puritanical  Yankeedom  ! 
Did  not  Andrews  say  well  in  advising  this  ?  He's  got 


260  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

a  long  head,  and  knows  all  I  have  just  said  is  true  to  the 
letter.  Think,  only  think  of  those  Yellowbodies,  Incou- 
ceiveables  —  those  haughty,  insufferable  haughty,  coine-oi- 
nothing  Pennimans  !  "  whose  father  and  grandfather  swept 
the  dung  from  stables  —  and  those  Touchmenots,  whose 
progenitors  it  is  believed  were  convicts,  and  those  Cheek- 
ersprings,  who  are  absolutely  mere  dirt,  but  whom  a  clever, 
hard-working,  and  truly  noble  man,  has  by  his  genius  given 
the  means  on  which  they  now  so  heartlessly  splurge  in 
hoops,  in  feathers,  and  bright  buttons  —  toadying  to  for- 
eigners, and  kissing  the  posteriors  of  nobility  —  such  trash 
—  oh,  that  such  trash  should  have  it  in  their  power  to 
tread  on  us  —  as  they  have  done,  since  father's  failure." 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  replied  Mrs.  Andrews,  "  never  mind 
my  dear,  the  cat  will  mew,  and  the  dog  will  have  his 
day." 

"  Yes,  and  a  long  day  they  are  having  of  it,"  returned 
Fanny.  "  Never  mind  !  —  yes,  but  I  will  mind,  though  — 
to  be  cut  and  hammered  as  I  have  been  by  these  wretches 
since  I  came  out  in  calicoes,  is  something  to  mind,  me- 
thinks  ;  and  now  that  we've  got  Andrews  for  a  backer, 
they  shall  feel  me,  I  warrant  you.  When  in  my  silks 
again,  I'll  let  them  see  they  can't  slight  Fanny.  No,  no, 
I'll  let  them  see  my  blood  !  They'll  want  to  be  sociable 
again,  but  they  shall  feel  my  scorn." 

Laura  applauded  the  sentiments  of  her  sister,  and  said, 
"  Just  so  soon  as  her  father  got  agoing  again,  and  could 
furnish  her  with  the  means  to  play  the  lady,  she,  too, 
would  let  these  Boston  upstarts,  wherever  she  might  meet 
them,  know  that  they  could  not  become  her  associates 
again  —  she  would  let  them  know  a  thing  or  two,  that  she 
would." 

Mrs.  Catchpenny  entertained  towards  Boston  and  its 
fashion  very  much  the  same  spirit  as  her  children  ;  but 
she  was  too  profoundly  impressed  with  their  good  fortune 
to  make  it  immediately  the  subject  of  hope  of  thus  being 
the  instrument  of  their  passions  —  and  Mr.  Catchpenny, 
though  he  in  a  tenfold  manner  felt  all  the  indignities 
which  his  misfortune  had  subjected  himself  and  family  to, 
yet  he  appeared  perfectly  unmoved  by  them ;  but  simply 
said,  he  would  endeavor  to  make  them  all  comfortable 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GEXIUS.  261 

again,  and  to  place  within  their  use  the  means  to  sustain 
themselves  in  such  circles  as  they  moved  in  formerly,  and 
from  which  they  had  so  unexpectedly  fallen.  He  was 
bent  on  making  a  large  fortune,  and  with  this  end  in  view 
he  determined  to  settle  in  St.  Louis,  and  establish  him- 
self in  a  Produce  and  Commission  business,  with  a  branch 
of  his  house  at  New  Orleans,  Cincinnati,  and  New  York. 
His  plan  was  an  extensive  one,  and  he  was  confident  he 
could  carry  it  out,  as  he  intended  to  associate  with  him 
one  of  the  smartest  young  men  in  the  country,  who  was 
familiar  with  all  points  of  business  in  the  South  and  West, 
and  fully  posted  in  the  fluctuations  of  its  markets.  Se- 
cretly he  proposed  to  marry  him  to  one  of  his  daughters, 
because  he  was  persuaded  the  blood  of  the  Catchpennys, 
mingled  with  that  of  such  an  energetic  and  knowing  man, 
must  yield  a  staple  of  bone,  flesh,  and  intellect,  of  which 
he  could  not  be  otherwise  than  proud.  He  wished  to  live 
his  life  over  again  in  his  grand-children  as  he  had  done 
in  his  children,  and  above  all,  he  wanted  to  improve  the 
breed  by  every  possible  calculation.  He  was  a  man  of 
figures  and  of  facts  ;  and  in  the  whole  course  of  his  busy 
life  had  never  read  attentively  through  the  works  of  even 
one  poet.  He  denounced  the  art,  and  declared  no  man 
safe  who  was  in  search  of  fame  through  any  such  an  ab- 
surd medium.  He  said  if  all  poets  were  hung,  as  from 
time  to  time  they  made  their  appearance,  there  would  be 
a  better  state  of  morals,  and  a  healthier  condition  of 
mind.  As  to  Longfellow's  beauties,  they  were  no  beauties 
at  all ;  and  none  but  silly  women,  incompetent  men,  and 
romantic  girls  and  boys,  would  waste  their  time  in  reading 
his  poetical  effusions.  In  the  judgment  of  Mr.  Catch- 
penny, who  regarded  the  laws  of  Political  Economy  as 
the  most  important  to  society,  this  "  charming  master  of 
song,1'  was  esteemed  as  an  egotistical,  self-admiring,  pol- 
ished literary  sot,  who  could  do  nothing  but  teach,  and 
write  sentimental  nonsense,  perfume,  and  talk  in  signs 
which  few  sensible  people  had  time  to  qualify  themselves 
to  understand. 

Polmesly,  the  great  and  immortal  Polmesly  !  the  multum 
in  par  DO  of  all  scientific  data,  the  man  of  men — the  Na- 
poleon of  wit,  and  what  shall  we  say  of  song  !  —  the 


262  THE    PENNIMA.NS  ;     OR, 

good  fellow  —  the  handsome  fellow,  the  fellow  who  lias 
always  something  to  say  —  first  in  all  things,  and  last  in 
nothing,  except  at  tea  —  the  undaunted !  the  genius  that 
knows  no  law,  he  may  not  be  able  to  expound  —  the  ex- 
planation of  explanations  !  the  man  who  does  not  believe 
in  phrenology,  as  we  are  informed,  because  phrenology 
doesn't  believe  in  him  —  the  pet  of  the  petticoats,  who 
gives  his  songs  and  his  sons  to  his  admiring  and  wounded 
country !  the  literary  contriver,  who  is  so  well  pleased 
with  his  reputation  as  a  person  "  of  decided  parts,"  that 
he  consents  to  follow  in  the  track  of  his  illustrious  tribe 
of  quill-men,  and  thus  comes  to  the  illustration  of  him- 
self in  vignet,  in  those  books  of  which  his  inexhaustible 
genius  has  been  felicitously  and  without  pains,  delivered 
—  handsome  fellow,  charming  fellow,  the  Adonis  of  prose 
as  well  as  poetry  —  the  Hector  of  success  ;  that  mean 
word  —  that  domineering,  sneering,  uneasy,  breezy,  easy, 
cheesy,  acrimonious,  euphonious,  ominous,  delightful, 
spiteful,  agglutinous,  pious,  outrageous,  captious,  truck- 
ling, piddling,  apprehensive,  extensive,  (and  so  on  through 
the  entire  dictionary),  word  —  that  idea  of  ideas! — to 
which  all  men  bow,  who  bow  at  all  —  for  in  success, 
where  ever  it  may  chance  to  happen,  and  it  often  happens 
in  strange  places,  and  frequently  from  still  stranger  work- 
ings of  small  things  to  big  ends  —  wherever  this  hero 
success  is  found  whether  on  two  legs  or  four,  whether 
clean  or  unclean,  whether  fat  and  oily,  or  dry  and  spare, 
whether  honest  or  dishonest,  whether  lovely  or  unlovely, 
gentle  or  severe,  or  whatever  its  condition,  it  is  a  thing  of 
substance  —  it  may  be  chewed,  it  may  be  nibbled  —  it  may 
sometimes  be  fleeced,  it  is  sweet  to  smell  of,  still  more  de- 
licious to  avail  of,  and  so  be  it  Painter,  Poet,  Trader  or 
Scavenger,  it  has  always  the  best  of  friends,  and  the  most 
persistent  of  toadies  —  now,  reader,  for  such  an  august 
personage — having  power,  having  really  a  genuine  wit 
and  humor,  about  which  there  is  no  mistake,  for  so  de- 
clare the  "  mutual  admirers,"  whose  head  is  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  whose  tail  has  never  yet  been  found,  as 
hidden  as  the  outlets  of  the  north  pole,  which  has 
been  Kaned  severely  enough,  heaven  knows,  to  di- 
gorge  its  secrets,  yet  still  is  dumb,  —  that  such  a  being, 


THE    THITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  263 

who,  in  anceint  days  !  would  have  been  crowned  with 
bays,  and  set  upon  a  high  hill,  as  an  extraordinary  pro- 
jection of  nature  —  that  he,  the  privileged!  the  inimita- 
ble Athenian,  humorist,  poet,  and  sage !  who  gives  the 
cue  to  mirth,  and  is  an  indispensable  adjunct  to  all  gath- 
erings of  wisdom,  common  sense  and  taste  —  the  one 
whose  laws  of  beauty  and  et  ceteras,  should  regulate  one's 
laughter  and  attemper  one's  wits  —  that  he  should  be 
called,  even  by  so  commercial  and  practical  a  money-mon- 
ger as  Mr.  Catchpenny,  _"  a  facetious  cow-boy,"  is  lament- 
able to  record. 

No  greater  abuse  of  "  free  speech,"  no  more  infamous 
abrogation  of  civilized  modes  of  thought  and  judgment, 
was  ever  before  even  dreamed  of,  in  the  imagination  of  the 
most  crazy-headed  romancer  of  ancient,  middle,  or  modern 
ages.  Yet,  such  was  Mr.  Catchpenny's  opinion,  such  was 
the  opinion  of  his  wife  an^d  daughters.  They  had  met  this 
"famous  character"  in  society — "they  could  not  bear 
his  presence."  It  always  appeared  to  them  "  as  though 
he  was  taking  notes  of  human  life,  and  smelt  a  bad  smell ; 
nothing  ever  appeared  to  give  to  his  countenance  the  fresh 
tinge  of  fragrance  or  beamy  rays  of  love,"  and  as  Laura 
would  view  his  portrait  in  vignet,  she  used  always  to  say, 
"  If  this  man  only  knew  himself,  he'd  keep  more  shady." 
Miss  Fanny  had  a  tart  saying  for  most  every  one,  particu- 
larly those  who  set  themselves  up  as  geniuses!  in  which 
she  did  not  much  believe  —  not  being  able  to  understand 
how  it  could  be,  that  "  all  being  deceitful  and  desperately 
wicked,"  as  the  Bible  declared,  in  which  she  did,  at  times, 
believe  —  how  if  this  be  so,  genius  was  entitled  to  any 
more  "  cake  and  tea  "  than  anybody  else,  was  what  she 
could  not,  and  would  not  comprehend.  In  fact,  she  re- 
garded all  "  unusually  gifted  persons,"  as  unusually  dis- 
gusting ones,  and  often  would  declare,  rather  than  to  be 
married  to  a  pair  of  breeches,  made  up  of  a  love  of  self 
and  fame,  she  would  much  prefer  to  live  an  old  maid,  and 
husband  her  virginity  in  comparative  peace  and  neglect ; 
for  she  thought  after  all,  since  she  had  a  taste,  of  it,  that  to 
be  neglected  was  not  so  harsh  a  pill,  when  taken  with  a 
little  philosophy.  She  could  stand  it  very  well  she  thought 
—  "  much  better  far,  than  she  could  endure  any  man, 


264  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

who  could  have  the  heart  to  place  an  ungrateful,  backbit- 
ing, captious,  frivolous,  grudgingly  approving,  hypercriti- 
cal, fretful,  intriguing  public,  in  his  affections  before  her  ! 
She  must  be  served  and  honored  first,  and  the  public  after' 
wards,  or  she  would  never  consent  to  live  with  any  sort 
of  a  genius  —  to  be  played  with  and  upon  as  his  second 
fiddle  !  Not  she." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Catchpenny,  quite  well  pleased  "  with  her 
spunk,"  sincerely  hoped  she  would  "  adhere  to  her  prin- 
ciples, so  high-spirited  and  delightful ;  "  they  wanted 
neither  poets,  nor  dreamers  of  any  sort  about  them,  but 
men  in  every  sense  of  the  term,  who  could  do  busi- 
ness and  make  money  rapidly  —  who  could  get  families 
and  attend  to,  and  take  care  of  them  —  who  were 
practical  enough  to  know,  that  eating,  good  eating  and 
drinking  as  well,  are  absolute  necessities,  and  that  life  is 
dependent  thereon.  Men  who  sing  only  when  they've 
nothing  better  to  do,  and  who  never  talk  love,  for  talk's 
sake  —  men,  who  go  to  bed  late  and  get  up  early,  with  a 
clear  head,  and  a  tolerably  clear  conscience  —  who  let 
other  men's  wives  alone,  and  never  seek  by  force  of  win- 
ning ways,  and  pleasing  fancy,  to  overcome  unlawfully 
any  of  the  fair  sex  —  married  or  unmarried,  fascinating  or 
unfascinating,  fair  or  foul,  in  health  or  out  of  health,  wil- 
ling or  unwilling,  "  but  inspired  with  an  awful  sense  of 
virtue,  '  stick  close'  to  wife  and  children,  and  home." 

These  were  men  in  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Catchpenny 
believed,  and  were  hopeful  of  for  their  much  loved,  though 
abusive,  and  oftentimes  rebellious  daughters.  In  the 
course  of  a  couple  of  weeks  they  expected  to  emigrate, 
"  and  when  that  happy  day  shall  arrive,"  exclaimed  both 
Fanny  and  Laura,  "  I  shall  have  taken  another  lease  of 
life,  and  purer  and  happier  will  be  my  hopes  than  ever  ! 
Yes,  to  me  there  is  something  criminal  and  infectious  in 
this  very  air  of  Boston  and  its  vicinity,  breathed  by  those 
venomous  Pennimans  and  Touchmenots,  Yellowbodies 
and  Inconceivables,  which  is  destructive  to  my  morals  and 
cankering  to  my  mind.  Haste,  oh,  haste  daddy,  and  waft 
us  away  to  fairer  climes,  more  genial  humanity."  And 
with  these  words  she  slapped  her  smiling  father  on  the 
back,  then  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  kissed  him  : 


THE    TBITJMPH    OF    GENIT7S.  265 

a  manifestation  of  interest  and  tenderness  she  had  for  some 
time  previous  omitted  altogether. 

"  Do  I  owe  this,"  inquired  he  pleasantly,  "  to  my  worth, 
or  that  of  Andrews  ?  " 

"  Daddy,"  replied  Fanny  smiling,  "  you  must  not 
he  too  inquisitive.  You  know  inquiring  too  closely 
into  the  mysteries  of  the  kitchen,  is  apt  to  paralyze 
the  appetite.  So  mind  what  you  are  about.  If  An- 
drews has  given  you  health,  wealth,  and  spirits,  think 
me  a  darling,  and  /  am  so.  There's  nothing  either  good 
or  bad  but  thinking  makes  it  so,  you  know.  So  go  ahead 
and  get  as  soon  as  possible  out  of  Yankeedom  and 
bears.  Pork  and  molasses,  and  small  beer,  I  have  had 
more  than  enough  of —  so  move,  whenever  you  please,  to 
St.  Louis,  or  the  devil,  and  I  will  go  along  contentedly 
with  you  —  anywhere  but  here  within  the  smell  of  Bos- 
ton." 

And  as  she  concluded,  she  chucked  her  father  under 
the  chin,  then  seizing  hold  of  her  sister,  twirled  her  around 
to  the  step  of  the  polka,  she  had  many  times  taken  with 
Andrews.  The  Misses  Catchpenny  danced  well,  and 
when  they  were  of  the  elite,  the  arm  of  many  a  beaux, 
"  particular  as  to  their  partners,"  had  known  the  measure 
of  their  waists,  and  lovers'  cheeks  had  felt  the  beating  of 
these  full  and  rounded  bosoms,  which  mortification,  neglect, 
and  grief,  had  somewhat  modified,  in  these  days  of  their 
sojourn  in  the  wilderness.  But  with  Andrews'  professions 
and  doings,  they  were  fast  recovering  their  former  light- 
heartedness,  and  soon  would  become  as  talkative,  saucy, 
and  plump  as  ever. 

"  Oh,  Andrews,  Andrews,"  exclaimed  Fanny;  "what a 
delightful  Andrews  !  I  feel  you  in  every  limb,  in  every 
fibre  of  my  grief-ridden  body  —  you  are  enshrined  in  my 
heart,  and  so  will  ever  be,  throughout  all  eternity.  Yes, 
my  dear  fellow,  I  am  yours,  and  if  it  should  ever  happen, 
that  I  am  made  a  mother  of,  through  love  or  something 
like  it,  my  first,  oh,  my  first !  shall  be  christened,  William 
Andrews  Catchpenny,  and  in  him  shall  I  have  all  the 
hopes  which  Agnes  has  in  you.  If  he  proves  not  a  genius 
under  the  inspiration  of  your  fair  name,  I  am  certain  he 
won't  prove  either  a  knave  or  a  fool.  You,  oh  you,  Sir 
12 


266  THE    PEXNIMA.NS. 

Andrews,  are  the  aegis  of  our  family,  of  our  honor,  of  our 
everything;  you  —  oh,  you  are  a  perfect  brick  —  this  let 
none  dare  gainsay." 

As  she  said  this  she  ceased  her  motions,  and  fell  into 
the  lap  of  her  mother,  who  slapping  her  on  the  back,  ex- 
claimed, "  get  off  of  me  ;  I  have  borne  you  long  enough, 
now  bear  yourself." 

"  That's  clever,"  ejaculated  Fanny,  rising  to  her  feet, 
and  looking  playfully  at  her  parent ;  "  very  clever. 
Whenever  you  get  your  wit  in  play,  I  know  your 
spirits  are  coming  up  —  well,  let  them  come  —  we  have 
had  small  beer  enough.  Hurrah  for  the  musician's  son  ! 
one  of  the  plebs !  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  the 
owner  of  just  such  a  jewel  as  that?  worlds,  worlds,  ay, 
worlds  !  Mud,  eh !  it  is  that  kind  of  mud  of  which  men 
are  made  —  and  spare  me  any  other." 

So  Fanny  run  on,  and  Laura  after  her,  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Catchpenny  in  the  background,  catching  from  their 
children  the  warming  fires  of  hope,  fancy,  and  resolution 
—  for  the  girls  had  determined  to  make  their  mark  yet, 
though  fully  up  to  that  age  when  virginity  begins  to  wilt 
and  look  bilious,  yet  there  was  paint  and  there  was  chalk, 
and  soaps  of  many  kinds  ;  and  by  the  handmaid  art  of 
humbug,  they  intended  yet  to  fascinate  "  worthy  men." 
And  with  these  hopes,  buoyant  as  balloons  —  with  these 
fancies  plumed  for  a  far  distant  flight,  to  conquer  and 
secure  what  all  desire,  but  few  can  command  —  respect, 
competence,  a  clear  conscience,  ease  and  honor  —  with 
these  golden  dreams,  and  the  still  more  golden  memories 
of  their  true  friend  and  benefactor,  Andrews,  we  now 
leave  them  to  pursue  their  journey  West  to  new  homes 
and  new  associates  —  where  the  air  of  Boston  goes  not 
only  in  small  quantities,  and  where  the  ever-moving,  swift- 
ly gliding  currents  of  human  life  purge  society  of  much 
of  its  stiffness,  censoriousness,  and  hauteur. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

«'  She  who  spurned  me  once,  now  sues  ! " 

OUR  hero,  William  Andrews,  with  every  succeeding 
day  grew  more  popular  both  as  a  citizen  and  a  lawyer, 
and  his  services  had  been  solicited  repeatedly  by  commit- 
tees as  lecturer  on  Laws  and  other  subjects  of  vital  inter- 
est to  the  community.  He  had  been  offered  a  seat  in  the 
Senate,  but  as  his  practice  of  Law  was  so  extensive,  he 
declined  the  public  honors  which  had  been  so  freely  and 
pressingly  tendered  him.  He  did  not  as  yet  ardently 
aspire  to  the  duties  of  a  statesman,  but  he  reserved  for 
future  years  the  realization  of  these  hopes ;  the  burthen 
of  these  severe  responsibilities.  It  was  towards  the  mid- 
dle of  a  day  in  December,  one  of  those  "  still  cold  days  " 
when  men  gather  about  their  ears  the  collars  of  their 
coats,  and  keep  their  hands  well  clad  with  heavy  gloves, 
when  the  snow  glistens  in  crystal  particles,  and  creaks  at 
the  tread  of  man,  or  the  passage  of  runners  heavily 
freighted  with  merchandise ;  when  noses  grow  numb, 
and  a  hot  punch  may  be  taken  as  a  medicine, —  when 
anything  that  has  heat  is  coveted  with  an  especial  af- 
fection for  its  superior  advantages ;  —  on  such  a  day,  in  an 
office  near  the  court-house  located  in  a  building  appropri- 
ated to  the  Knights  of  the  Bar,  was  seated  in  an  easy 
chair  beside  a  table  covered  with  a  handsome  green  cloth, 
on  which  lay  loosely  arranged  a  number  of  books  and 
papers,  a  man  of  a  marked  and  massive  countenance,  and 
an  eye  so  blue  and  piercing,  the  stoutest  nerves  were 
tremulous  under  its  activity  and  power.  His  wavy  hair 
lay  about  his  prominent  brow  which  was  deeply  indented 
with  the  lines  of  profound  thought  and  study.  He  was 
alone.  From  the  walls  of  his  office  hung  several  por- 
traits of  famous  jurists,  among  which  were  Webster,  Clay, 
Choate,*Calhoun,  and  Benton.  As  he  raised  his  head  from 


268  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

its  downward,  thoughtful  position,  his  eye  rested  upon 
Webster,  now  in  the  meridian  of  his  fame,  and  raising 
his  hand  to  his  brow,  as  though  to  recover  some  chain 
of  thought,  he  said  in  a  slow,  solemn  tone,  "  had  I  his 
brain,  I  would  attain  to  his  glory.  Truly  is  he  a  man  to 
command ;  reminding  one  of  those  ancient  demi-gods  and 
heroes,  whom  men  delighted  to  obey.  An  ardent  patriot, 
a  warm  friend,  an  acute  lawyer,  a  dignified  and  rational 
orator,  both  his  mind  and  heart  were  tempered  by  an  un- 
wavering faith  in  Christianity,  and  a  perfect  trust  in  God. 
Webster,  thy  merits  will  never  be  fully  rewarded  by  man, 
but  thy  duties  will  ever  be  faithfully  performed  !  And 
Choate,  the  Erskine  of  our  Bar,  how  worthy  to  be  the 
friend  of  so  pure  a  statist,  so  conscientious  a  scholar ;  thy 
genius  points  to  that  career  which  will  be  glorious;  but 
since  thou  wilt  not  stoop  to  flatter  the  people,  and  those 
who  more  immediately  control  them,  thou  wilt  fail  of  that 
complete  success,  which  a  less  unbending  integrity  would 
secure.  And  Clay,  how  my  heart  beats  with  pleasure  in 
contemplating  thy  manhood  —  thy  gallant  soul.  Too  true 
to  thy  convictions  of  justice  and  truth,  the  honors  which 
thy  labors  and  transcendent  moral  and  intellectual  worth 
should  insure,  will  fall  to  meaner  men  ;  but  yet  will  the 
best  and  purest  hearts  ever  linger  around  thy  grave,  to 
catch  the  inspirations  of  thy  kingly  truth  !  And  Calhoun, 
much  as  I  respect  thy  power,  I  fear  thy  metaphysics ;  I 
fear  that  subtle  logic  which  would  prove  this,  the  noble 
charter  of  our  liberties,  but  a  rope  of  sand  !  if  thou  hadst 
but  Webster's  unbiassed  and  practical  judgment,  thou 
would  never  peril  the  existence  of  this  Constitution,  by 
doctrines  which,  however  plausible  in  the  abstract,  are  in- 
expedient and  dangerous  as  Law.  The  seed  which  thou 
art  so  busily  scattering  on  the  political  soil  of  your  coun- 
try, may  yet  fructify  into  such  error  as  to  deluge  the  land 
in  blood  !  and  when  you  are  in  your  grave  it  shall  be  said 
by  the  pilgrim  who  wanders  there,  as  a  tear  rolls  down 
his  cheek,  "  here  lies  the  mighty  soul  whose  eccentricities 
of  logic,  and  illusory  metaphysics,  caused  the  ruin  of  his 
country  !  Alas,  Calhoun,  that  thou,  so  gifted  and  sincere, 
should  have  thought  so  unfairly  of  the  law,  it  was  thy 
duty  rightly  and  rationally  to  construe.  When  thy  God 


THE    XKIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  209 

shall  ask  thee  for  the  fruits  of  those  splendid  talents  he 
reposed  in  thy  keeping,  how  blackened  and  bloody  they 
will  be.  Thus  will  after  ages  speak  thy  name.  But  not 
so  Benton,  Here  is  a  mind  deep  as  is  the  well  of  Artois, 
casting  forth  from  its  clear  and  bubbling  springs,  life, 
new  life,  to  the  Republic.  His  noble  form,  his  wonderful 
energy,  his  indomitable  perseverance,  his  fearless  spirit, 
has  earned  for  him,  and  justly  too,  the  admiration  of  his 
countrymen ;  he  is  indeed  '  Old  Bullion '  —  sound  and 
solid."  With  these  words  he  for  a  moment  ceased,  and 
passing  his  hand  repeatedly  over  his  brow,  at  the  same 
time  pushing  the  light,  wavy,  and  glossy  hair  from  his  face, 
he  continued  with  an  abstracted  air  to  express  in  low, 
though  audible  tones,  his  thoughts.  "These  were  men  of 
genius  all,  who  loved  Justice  and  devoted  their  lives  to 
ceaseless  toil  to  compass  its  administration.  They  worked 
for  power,  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  mankind,  and  to  them- 
selves —  that  their  outward  lives  might  be  in  harmony 
with  their  interior  forms ;  they  acquired  fame,  but  none 
reached  the  goal  to  which  their  labors  and  their  hopes 
were  pointed.  Ah !  what  is  Justice,  Law,  and  what,  oh, 
what  is  Fame  !  Justice  is  love  of  God !  whoever  loves  his 
Maker,  loves  to  be  in  all  things  just  —  for  this  and  this 
alone  is  happiness  !  Law,  though  from  the  spring  of  Jus- 
tice drawn,  is  changed  by  art  to  policy  —  and  men  will 
argue,  but  for  rights  which  it  is  expedient  and  profitable 
to  acquire.  And  thus  the  lawyer,  honest  though  he  be, 
will  fall  far  short  of  justice,  however  large  the  fee.  For 
Justice  is  the  handmaid  of  the  Law,  and  not  its  master, 
and  often  lays  abed  from  fear  of  insult,  and  oft  from  lack 
of  strength  to  rise ;  she  grieves  continually,  and  thus  her 
health  from  sadness  and  unceasing  watchfulness  comes  to 
be  impaired.  When  first  I  thought  in  solemn  earnestness 
of  power !  I  flew  to  Law.  'Twas  then  my  heart  beat 
high,  for  said  I  to  myself,  I  will  so  store  my  mind  with 
principles  as  shall  make  judgment  easy,  and  thus  the 
right  and  thus  the  wrong  I'D  have  at  all  my  fingers  ends, 
to  guide  my  fellow  man.  Well,  well,  it  was  a  folly  this ; 
I  know  it  now,  but  I  did  not  suspect  it  then.  Unused  to 
sophistry,  I  little  realized  its  sway.  I  little  dreamed  how 
art  could  cozen  nature,  and  from  the  noblest  soul  sworn 


270  THE    PENNIMANS;    OB, 

to  be  most  just  and  true^  unwittingly  extort  a  judgment 
false  —  if  not  extort,  obtain  —  and  for  this  piece  of 
ingenuity,  wit  brings  even  virtue,  the  least  untouched  by 
human  indiscretions,  and  easy  humor,  to  bend  the  knee 
to  it  —  to  beg  its  likeness,  or  its  hair,  or  anything  by 
which,  when  it  no  more  its  brilliant  parts  may  spread,  it 
shall  be  yet  identified,  though  in  the  ground  its  graceful 
form  may  mingle  with  the  earth  of  which  'twas  fashioned. 
"Tis  not  justice,  nor  the  law,  which  pleases,  but  the  advo- 
cate alone  !  and  if  he  has  received  an  intellect  which  has 
scope  to  grasp  the  infinite  threads  of  argument  which 
make  for  and  against  all  points  of  controversy,  impatient 
of  restraint,  he  straightway  strangles  or  drives  with  fearful 
fright  mild  justice  off,  while  he  pulls  lustily  for  policy  and 
fame.  It  matters  not  who  comes  to  him  for  succour,  if 
his  case  is  with  one  single  feature  of  precedent,  and  seas- 
oned with  a  handsome  fee,  it  shall  appear  that  right  and 
justice  make  for  it,  though  tears  and  broken  hearts  go 
howling  from  her  temple,  and  the  scales  are  seen  by  un- 
professional eyes  to  kick  the  beam  from  lightness  of  hu- 
manity to  those  who  ask  for  truth  in  vain  !  and  why  ? 
because  of  all  things  in  this  world,  least  had  by  merest 
asking,  is  that  which  God  through  conscience  declareth 
free  to  all.  For  Law  and  Justice  men  must  pay,  and 
dearly  too,  since  on  these  elements  of  human  life,  have  been 
entailed  so  large  a  load  of  learning,  that  to  understand 
the  crooked  ways  through  which  it  forces  study,  the  no- 
blest minds  which  can  endure  unceasing  toil  must  set 
themselves  apart,  and  that,  too,  early,  while  yet  the  soul 
may  be  inured  to  reticence,  and  in  her  secret  chambers 
turn  o'er  and  o'er  their  accumulated  stores  without  fa- 
tigue, proving  the  task  a  pleasure.  Such  and  such  alone 
should  seek  to  know  the  mysteries  of  that  web  of  nicest 
spinning,  termed  the  '  meshes  of  the  law  '  —  for  weaker 
minds  can  never  hope  to  comprehend  the  structure,  but 
lost  in  varied  indistinctivenesses,  fall  to  a  painful  void,  in 
which  the  soul  seems  so  meaningless,  that  the  veriest  thing 
that  moves  upon  the  earth  seems  more  endowed  with 
sense  and  God  !  No  rules  there  are  without  exceptions 
so  airy  and  impalpable,  that  in  grasping  these  one  oft  is 
apt  to  lose  the  rule,  and  thus  from  all  this  reasoning, 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  271 

comes  a  sickening  blank  ;  and  so  throughout  the  common 
law,  prevails  this  common  indistinctness.  So  varied  are 
the  circumstances  which  are  involved  in  all  disputes,  that 
seldom  one  case,  can  determine  others  —  an  ingenious 
mind  will  split  a  hair,  and  do  away  with  all  that  has  been 
done.  And  this,  though  strange  as  it  may  seem,  to  say,  is 
from  that  source  of  perfect  right  which  makes  the  com- 
mon law  so  dear — 'tis  termed  its  flexibility  —  from 
whence  sweet  Justice  gets  her  mellowest  fruit  and  in 
abundance  most  —  from  whence  come  those  delays  which 
laymen  swear  so  hard  about,  and  all  that  trying  labor 
which  a  lawyer  oft  sends  early  to  his  grave,  or  so  per- 
plexes with  uncertainty,  as  to  shake  his  nerves  with  fears, 
No  single  mind  can  know  this  precious  law,  the  boast  of 
merry  England ;  but  why  she  should  take  pride  in  that, 
so  much  obscured  —  so  difficult  to  unravel  —  and  which 
compel,  whoever  may  venture  at  the  skein,  to  live  as  her- 
mits, and  as  horses  work,  is  passed  my  wit  to  fathom  — 
for  nature  tells  me,  and  did  ever  so  inform,  that  truth  is 
Justice,  and  that  no  system  can  be  true  to  man,  which 
contradicts  what  all  men  feel  the  same,  that  God  is  love 
—  and  Law  is  God  !  Now,  if  I  do  perceive  a  wrong  on 
earth  it  is  in  Governments  —  since  they  exist  to  please 
and  pamper  pride,  and  cunning,  and  foster  fell  suspicion. 
Those  in  its  palings  —  the  favored  few,  lifted  to  the  seats  of 
poicer,  forget  how  much  they  owe  of  courtesy  and  kindest 
will  to  those  upon  whose  lacks  they  ride,  and  in  their  self- 
conceit  and  self-sufficiency  they  make  the  law,  (so  it  but 
carry  them  in  ease  along,)  of  painful  interest  to  those  not 
of  their  clan.  This  is  as  I  behold  this  boasted  arm  of 
right  ;  and  yet  so  frail  and  lacking  much  in  wisdom  are 
near  all  mankind,  I  should  not  dare  to  promise  any  better 
way  of  regulating  power.  But  yet  methinks  it  might  be 
done  if  men  could  only  realize  how  little  justice  they  ob- 
tain, when  largely  they  are  taxed,  so  that  right  may  be  had 
at  any  time  when  wanted.  All  courts  are  so  perplexed 
with  learning  that  they  do  not  comprehend  what  justice 
is,  and  though  "  most  honorable,"  are  most  uninformed  of 
what  mankind  are  most  in  need  —  which  is  some  little  cer- 
tainty to  Law.  If  this,  from  ignorance/  nor  from  learning 
can  be  had,  why  what  a  farce  is  life  !  and  who  may  not 


272  THE    PENNIMANS;    OK, 

be  pardoned,  when  in  the  bitterness  of  despair  he  doubts 
of  God !  When  after  years  of  toil  at  the  bench  and  bar, 
the  jurist  with  his  soul  tattered  by  the  conflict  of  opinion, 
and  his  face  as  a  sunless  sea  rocked  by  the  winds  of  sor- 
row, tearfully  exclaims,  '  What,  oh,  what  is  truth,  —  for 
in  my  studies,  and  long,  long  life,  I've  found  it  not.' 

At  this  instant  the  door  opened  and  a  young  man  en- 
tered from  an  adjoining  room,  —  he  was  a  student  at  Law 
in  the  office  of  Mr.  Andrews,  and  the  room  from  which 
he  had  emerged,  was  set  apart  for  study  and  the  students. 
He  appeared  considerably  perplexed ;  and  his  countenance 
indicated  the  most  marked  disgust.  His  eyes  were  forti- 
fied by  a  pair  of  steal  bow-spring  spectacles,  which  snugly 
fitted  to  the  base  of  the  nose  ;  his  hair  was  a  dingy  brown 
color,  and  had  the  appearance  of  utter  neglect.  We  do 
not  think  a  comb  had  entered  its  parts  for  many  a  day  ; 
it  was  said  the  young  man  sought  to  look  as  much  like 
Choate  as  possible  ;  and  for  this  reason  he  received  the 
soubrequet  from  many  of  the  younger  members  of  the  Bar, 
of  "  rather  Choaty"  It  vexed  him  exceedingly  to  be 
thus  characterised,  although  he  was  at  a  good  deal  of 
pains  to  invite  the  derision  —  for  derision  it  was,  and 
nothing  else.  He  was  a  youth  that  was  passionately  fired 
with  a  zeal  to  know  the  right  and  the  wrong  —  he  was 
willing  to  work  if  he  could  only  see  any  end  to  his  jour- 
ney. The  more  he  studied,  the  farther  off  he  appeared 
from  the  object  of  his  ambition  —  which  was  to  know  the 
law. 

"  Mr.  Andrews,"  he  said,  as  he  held  a  digest  of  the  law 
of  real  property  in  his  hand,  "  I'm  going  to  give  it  up  — 
it's  no  use  —  the  more  I  read  the  more  puzzled  I  am. 
There  doesn't  appear  to  me  a  case  in  this  digest,  not  open 
to  uncertainty,  and  how  to  advise  a  person  on  any  points 
herein  discussed,  I  dont  know,  and  damn  me  I  cannot  find 
out." 

"  Well,  your  position  is  not  at  all  peculiar,  my  young 
friend,"  replied  Mr.  Andrews ;  "  and  if  you  expect  to  get 
at  much,  so  clear,  as  to  be  able  to  go  into  courts  with  it,  un- 
apprehensive of  disappointment  and  defeat,  you  had  bet- 
ter at  once  understand  your  expectations  never  will  be 
realised ;  and  if  you  are  not  contented  to  buffit  with  all 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  273 

sorts  of  fiction,  and  every  possible  ingenuity  of  argu- 
ment, however  sophistical  and  irrational  it  may  appear, 
take  my  advice,  and  quit  legal  pursuits  this  very  hour ! 
ay,  this  very  minute,  whilst  you  can  do  so  without  morti- 
jication  and  embarrassment" 

"  Your  advise  I  shall  follow,"  rejoined  the  young  man. 
"  I  have  seen  enough  in  law  books  to  satisfy  me  that  a 
more  inharmonious  gathering  of  odds  and  ends  have  not 
an  existence  out  of  hell.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Andrews,  I 
mean  no  offense  to  you  —  you  are  a  man  in  every  sense  of 
that  word  —  I  love  and  honor  you  —  but  as  for  the  com- 
mon law,  I  am  heartily  sick  of  it.  What  no  man  can  un- 
derstand, however  gifted,  is  a  poor  machine,  and  7  want 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  sir ;  I  shall  go  at  something  else  this 
very  day." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Templeton,  what  do  you  propose  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,"  he  replied,  "  but  something  that's  plain 
sailing  and  honest  withall." 

The  door  again  opened,  and  in  walked  a  tall  snaky 
looking  fellow  with  green  spectacles,  and  clipper-built 
face,  deep  dark  eyes,  and  long  black  hair.  Casting  a 
peculiar  squint  at  Templeton,  he  said,  — 

"Mr.  Andrews,  I've  got  that  brief  in  order — when 
shall  you  want  to  use  it  ?  " 

"  Can  I  trust  you  to  make  the  pleadings  ?  "  inquired 
Andrews  "  —  sharply  eying  the  young  man,  who  had  just 
been  admitted  to  practice  in  all  the  courts  of  the  Common- 
wealth. 

"  I  think  you  can,  sir,"  replied  the  new  fledged  lawyer. 
"  You  have  had  me  under  your  eye  some  time  as  a  student 
—  you  ought  to  know  of  what  I  am  capable." 

"  So  I  had  —  so  I  had,"  returned  Andrews,  hurriedly. 
"  Well,  I'll  put  you  on  the  case,  and  we'll  see  what  you'll 
do  with  it." 

"  He'll  do  with  it,"  muttered  Templeton,  aside.  "  What 
that  chap  can't  get  through  his  pate,  won't  pass  anywhere. 
I've  seen  him  work,  and  I  know  he's  got  things  so  packed 
in  his  head,  that's  its  just  as  easy  for  him  to  say  one  thing 
as  another.  Damn  such  fellows  —  it  is  they  who  disgrace 
the  profession,  and  burthen  the  practice  of  Jurisprudence 
with  infinite  uncertainty  and  disgust.  " 
12* 


274  THE    PENNIMA.NS  J    OK,  « 

"  Templeten,"  remarked  the  snaky  looking  fellow, 
"  what's  the  matter  with  you  —  you  don't  appear  well  to- 
day ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  curtly  responded  the  student. 

"  I'm  sick  of  darkening  counsel." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  "  returned  the  new-fledged  lawyer. 
"  You  should  not  investigate.  You  know,  my  dear  fellow, 
there  isn't  more  than  one  in  a  thousand  who  have"  any 
business  to  learn,  or  to  see  beyond  their  nose  !  —  it  always 
makes  them  unhappy  and  morose  to  think." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned  Templeton. 
"  But  I  do  know  this  —  that  it  is  better  to  be  ignorant, 
than  so  legalized  as  never  to  apprehend  the  truth,  only  as 
it  may  pay.  I've  had  enough  of  Law  —  I'm  done  with 
it  —  but  you,  you  will  succeed,  sir.  A  man  who  can  look 
a  dozen  ways  at  once,  and  twist  his  reason  in  every  imagin- 
able form,  with  a  face  so  impassive  that  it  appears  a  blank 
—  must  succeed." 

At  these  words  he  took,  from  the  table  of  Mr.  Andrews, 
a  pile  of  papers  and  disappeared  into  the  room  from  which 
he  had  emerged,  muttering  : 

"  That  fellow  is  just  unscrupulous  enough  to  draw  prac- 
tice —  and  I  predict  he'll  have  enough  of  it  —  more 
scoundrels  knocking  at  his  office  door  than  he'll  have  time 
to  attend  to." 

At  this  moment  a  female  entered,  in  whose  countenance 
was  the  traces  of  grief.  The  snaky  looking  individual 
observing  at  once  that  she  was  on  business,  slipped  out  of 
the  room,  mentally  saying,  — 

"  A  case  of  divorce,  or  seduction  —  by  hell !  I'll  have 
a  hand  in  this  woman's  pocket,  too." 

"  Well,  Madam,"  remarked  Andrews,  as  the  man  in 
green  spectacles  left  the  office. 

"  There's  nothing  well  about  it,  sir.  Oh,  Mr.  Andrews, 
protect  me  if  you  can  from  a  brute  of  a  husband.  He  is 
so  mean  and  so  abusive,  and  so  suspicious,  that  I  cannot 
any  longer  live  with  him,"  exclaimed  the  female,  who  was 
no  less  a  person  than  Mrs.  Inconceivable.  "And  what  is 
more  I  won't  live  with  him  !  " 

"  We'll  see  about  that,  madam,"  replied  Mr.  Andrews, 
mildly.  "  We'll  see  about  that.  He  provides  you  with  the 


THE   TEITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  275 

necessaries   of  life,  and  all  things  suitable  to  your  rank 
—  does  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  responded  the  lady,  "  I  suppose  he  does  in  one 
sense  comply  with  the  requirements  of  the  law  —  but,"  — 

"  That  is  enough,  madam,  if  he  complies  with  the  re- 
quirements of  the  law,  in  any  sense,  you  must  do  the 
same  —  I  cannot  divorce  you  —  you  must  continue  to  live 
with  and  to  bear  with  him." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Andrews,  I  am  shocked  at  your  cruelty  !  " 
vociferated  Mrs.  Inconceivable.  "  And  is  this  the  evi- 
dence of  your  great  genius  —  your  'cute  method  —  to 
meet  a  woman  in  distress  with  such  counsel  as  this  I  Not 
one  cent  do  I  intend  to  pay  for  it  —  not  one  cent." 

Andrews  looked  at  the  woman  without  the  least  emo- 
tion, and  smilingly  said,  — 

"  I  have  no  charge  to  make,  my  good  lady,  more  than 
this  —  keep  your  temper,  and  make  the  best  of  him  whom 
you  have  sworn  to  honor,  love,  and  obey  !  " 

"  Out  upon  such  insolence  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Incon- 
ceivable, rising  imperiously  from  her  chair.     "  Y^ou  would- 
have  society  believe  you  have  a  conscience.     Bah  !  You 
see  I  know  better  —  genius,  indeed !  " 

With  these  words  she  strode  to  the  door,  and  as  she 
passed  through  to  the  entry,  muttered  in  somewhat  audible 
tones,  — 

"  Parvenu  !     Bah  !  " 

Andrews  was  altogether  unmoved,  and  was  just  upon 
the  point  of  taking  up  some  evidence  to  examine,  with  the 
remark,  "  a  fascinating  creature,"  when  the  door  again 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Yellowbody,  flushed  with  excitement, 
walked  deliberately  in,  and  taking  a  seat  near  the  lawyer, 
said, 

"  Sir,  I  come  to  you,  as  a  leading  member  of  the  bar, 
for  justice  ;  Mrs.  Touchmenot  and  Mrs.  Blowhard,  and 
Mrs.  Penniman,  all  three,  have  uttered  falsehoods  about 
me,  sir,  and  I  want  them  at  once  indicted,  ay,  sir,  at 
once !  "  — 

"  Well,  madam,  what  have  they  said,  and  what  can 
you  prove  ? "  interrogated  the  lawyer,  in  his  usually 
bland  manner. 

"Prove!"  reiterated  the  lady.     "I  don't  know  as  I 


276  THE    PENNIMANS  ;    OB, 

can  prove  anything,  but  I  know  very  well  what  they  have 
said." 

*'  Well,  what  have  they  said?  "  interrogated  the  man 
of  law,  sharply. 

"  Just  read  these  anonymous  letters,"  replied  Mrs. 
Yellowbody.  "  They  contain  the  whole  story." 

"  Ah,  madam,  excuse  me,"  returned  Mr.  Andrews, 
"  but  this  is  no  evidence." 

"  No  evidence  ! "  reiterated  Mrs.  Yellowbody.  "  No 
evidence,  sir  ;  then  what  in  heaven's  name,  and  the  name 
of  law  and  common  sense,  is  evidence.  These  women 
have  abused  me  —  and  here  is  the  written  documentary 
statement  of  the  fact  —  for  God's  sake,  sir,  what  more  do 
you  want." 

Mrs.  Yellowbody  at  this  point  rose  from  her  chair,  and 
looking  boldly  at  the  lawyer ,  continued,  — 

"  I  must  go  to  some  one  who  will  comprehend  my  case 
a  little  better  than  this  —  who  can  enter  into  my  feelings, 
and  who  will  earnestly  take  my  part." 

"  Well,  madam,  I  certainly  cannot  object,"  responded 
Andrews.  "  I  can  only  say  I  cannot  institute  any  action 
for  slander,  upon  any  such  evidence  as  this.1' 

"  Well,  sir,  then  I  cannot  be  of  any  service  to  you"  re- 
joined the  female,  (for  a  lady  in  truth,  she  was  not ;;  "  You 
are  a  timid  man  —  that  is  plain  to  be  seen.  You've  got  a 
reputation,  and  you  are  not  willing  to  take  any  risk  of 
impairing  it,  even  in  the  service  of  an  old  acquaintance  and 
friend." 

**  Well,  madam,  allow  me  to  say  that  I  was  not  aware 
you  had  ever  been  at  any  time  truly  a  friend  to  me"  re- 
sponded our  hero  ;  "  for  I  know  who  all  my  friends  are, 
but  as  such,  I  regret  to  say  I  do  not  know  you.  You  re- 
member some  years  since,  when  you  gave  a  brilliant  party, 
and  my  name  was  proposed  for  acceptance,  you  indignant- 
ly exclaimed,  I  want  no  fellow  in  my  house  who  has  not 
the  entre  at  the  residences  of  all  ourjirst  people  !  " 

"Well,  suppose  I  did"  rejoined  the  female  pettishly. 
"  You  know  very  well  you  were  of  little  or  no  account  at 
that  time,  whereas  of  late,  you  have  done  something  for 
yourself;  but  if  you  can't  make  this  case  of  mine  out, 
pure  clear  slander,  I  begin  to  be  distrustful  of  you  —  I 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  277 

begin  to  think  you've  climbed  up  much  higher  than  you 
have  any  right  to  be  —  and  it  would  not  surprise  me,  to 
see  you  settle  down,  to  about  where  you  belong.  I  must 
see  other  counsel,  for  these  slanderous  women,  I  am  re- 
solved to  bring  to  justice  —  that  I  am,  sir !  " 

She  now  bade  the  lawyer  good-day,  and  brushed  out  of 
his  office,  as  he,  eying  her  with  an  air  of  abstraction,  mut- 
tered, — 

"  Justice,  indeed  !  Dash  my  wig,  but  of  all  the  bores 
1  have  known  these  twelve  months,  these  two  insolent 
women  are  the  most  preeminent.  If  a  man's  reputation 
as  counsel  was  dependent  on  them,  he'd  soon  go  to  seed." 

Again  the  door  opened,  and  in  stepped  Mrs.  McAlpin, 
formerly  Nelly  Penniman.  She  was  pale  and  haggard, 
and  nervous  to  a  degree  almost  of  disease.  Her  eye  was 
indicative  of  a  very  excited  state  of  mind,  and  her  pulse 
beat  high,  as  she  took  the  hand  of  Andrews,  who  rose 
from  his  chair  and  cordially  bade  her  welcome. 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  will  excuse,  I  hope,  all  that  I  or  my  fami- 
ly have  ever  done  or  said,  prejudicial  to  your  interest  or 
dishonorable  to  your  name,"  remarked  Nelly,  with  an 
air  of  painful  earnestness,  and  in  tones  of  touching  sor- 
row. 

"  Be  seated,  madam,"  rejoined  the  lawyer^  with  a  glance, 
comprehending  the  condition  of  her  mind.  "  Calm  your- 
self, and  remember  the  office  of  wisdom  is  to  be  happy." 

"  Happy !  "  reiterated  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  Ah,  sir,  do 
not  mock  me  —  you  know  what  my  trials  have  been  and 
are  —  and  yet  you  counsel  me  to  be  happy  —  I  had  been 
so,  if  I  had  followed  the  suggestions  of  my  girlhood's  first 
delights,  and  not  a  heartless  mother's  pride  !  "  And  at 
these  words  she  wept  bitterly. 

"  You  are  so  pale,"  rejoined  Andrews,  tenderly,  "  and 
you  tremble  —  you  cannot  be  well.  Let  me  send  for  a 
carriage,  and  have  you  removed  from  my  office  to  your 
home." 

"  Home  !  "  reiterated  Nelly.  "  I  have  no  home.  I 
am  friendless  and  forsaken  !  "  Her  sobs  were  frequent, 
and  the  lawyer's  sensibilities  were  moved  in  a  manner  he 
had  not  experienced  since  the  death  of  Ida. 

*'  No  home,"  responded  he.  •*  Do  you  not  reside  with, 
your  mother  ?  " 


278  THE   PENNIMANS;    OB, 

"  No,  no,  no,"  replied  the  grief- stricken  female.  "  We 
have  parted,  and  forever !  She  wearied  of  my  complaints 
—  and  because  that  I  spoke  the  anguish  of  my  heart,  she 
struck  and  cursed  me !  and  my  sister,  Mrs.  Donothing  — 
she  has  been  treated  in  the  same  manner  ;  she,  too,  has  left 
her,  and  forever.  Ma  is  not  at  all  resigned  to  her  ob- 
scure life,  and  admits  no  one  to  the  house  but  Mr.  Gaseous, 
whose  intimacy  with  her  is  shameful  —  and  I  have  told  her 
so.  My  father  takes  no  notice  of  any  of  us,  but  lives  like  a 
hermit  —  in  hatred  of  all  mankind.  His  oaths  are  most 
fearful  against  you.  He  says  you  were  the  cause  of  his 
ruin,  employing  the  meanest  expedients  and  rascalities  of 
the  law  to  rob  him  of  his  property.  Oh,  Mr.  Andrews, 
can  this  be  so  ?  " 

"  Madam,  I  was  employed  against  your  father,  it  is 
true,"  responded  the  lawyer  ;  "  but  I  first  gave  him  the 
opportunity  of  retaining  me,  of  which  he  did  not  see  jit  to 
avail.  If  he  lost  his  property  to  such  an  amount  as  to 
fail  him  through  my  professional  skill,  he  has  himself  and 
no  one  else  to  blame." 

"  He  has,  he  has  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  Not 
only  has  his  contempt  of  you  impoverished  us  all,  but  / 
have  doubly  suffered.  With  you,  oh,  with  you,  how  hap- 
py I  should  have  been !  " 

"  Dwell  not  upon  your  errors,  madam,"  returned  the 
lawyer.  "  They  have  done  their  painful  work  —  they 
cannot  be  recalled.  Had  our  early  love  been  permitted 
an  uninterrupted  growth,  you  would  not,  perhaps,  be  now 
in  tears,  but  Nelly  (for  such  I  still  will  call  you),  give 
not  way  to  them.  You  are  a  woman  —  you  have  much 
that  is  noble  in  your  nature  —  resolve  to  give  it  play. 
You  have  many  years  before  you  —  make  them  useful  to 
mankind." 

"  Useful  —  useful  —  to  mankind  1  "  sobbed  Nelly. 
"  How  can  the  broken-hearted  fulfil  such  a  happy  mission. 
Think  of  me  —  how  sad  my  fate  !  abandoned  by  my  hus- 
band, who  has  gone  no  one  knows  where,  cursed  by  my 
mother,  and  unnoticed  by  my  father  —  neglected  by  the 
McAlpins,  and  all  with  whom  I  have  been  on  terms  of 
friendship  —  how  can  I  breast  an  experience  like  this  !  *'  . 

"  Through  trust  in  God !  "  exclaimed  Andrews.     "  He 


THE   TEITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  279 

has  delivered  me  from  beneath  the  feet  of  my  foes,  he  will 
raise  you  yet  to  influence  and  honor,  if  to  Him  you  turn 
—  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart,  O  Lord !  thou  wilt  not 
despise." 

The  features  of  Andrews  seemed  for  the  moment  in- 
spired with  the  very  soul  of  Deity,  and  as  Mrs.  McAlpin 
raised  her  eyes  to  them,  she  appeared  to  forget  all  her 
grief,  and  with  a  hopeful  smile  she  said,  taking  the  hand 
of  Andrews,  — 

"  Willie  (for  such  I  still  must  call  you),  you  have 
shamed  me  back  to  womanhood  !  — Who  should  give  way 
to  sorrow,  who  remembers  God  is  just.  Oh,  my  dear 
friend,  how  you  have  triumphed  over  me.  Had  it  been 
said  when  I  last  met  you  at  your  home  in  Lexington, 
flushed  as  I  was  with  pride,  —  of  the  many  attentions  I 
had  received  from  heartless  flatterers  in  Europe,  that  I 
should  at  any  future  time  bow  thus  to  you,  I  should  have 
repelled  the  prediction  with  scorn  !  but  as  it  is,  I  exult  in 
your  friendship,  and  I  revere  those  splendid  talents  which 
have  so  nobly  vindicated  your  pretensions  to  gentle 
blood.  One  hair  of  your  head  has  more  of  manhood, 
and  of  true  respectability,  than  the  entire  bodies  of  a 
dozen  James  McAlpins  I" 

"  Ah,  Nelly,"  rejoined  our  hero.     "  Your  —  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  too  lavish  of  my  praise,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  McAlpin,  her  whole  countenance  being  animated  by 
the  presence  and  charming  manners  of  her  early  love.  "  I 
have  lived  with  him,  and  know  him  thoroughly.  Experi- 
ence may  be  trusted." 

**  It  may,"  returned  Andrews.  "  It  is  the  lamp  by 
which  all  should  ever  be  guided.  You  must  get  up  your 
health  —  you  do  not  look  at  all  well.1' 

"  Sorrow  and  a  hopeless  future,  have  nearly  destroyed 
me.  What  think  you  I  had  resolved  to  do  ? '' 

"  I  cannot  divine,"  replied  the  lawyer.  "  Reckless 
women  sometimes  do  desperate  deeds." 

*'  In  hatred  of  all  things,  myself  and  sister  had  deter- 
mined to  enter  a  convent  and  to  take  the  veil,"  rejoined 
Nelly,  with  an  air  of  marked  determination. 

"  Monstrous  !  "  exclaimed  our  hero,  "  Monstrous  !  the 
saddest  hour  of  your  life  would  have  been  your  passage 
to  such  a  tomb  —  a  living  death,  indeed." 


280  THE    PENNIMANS;    OR, 

"  Ay  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  I  see  it  now,  I  see  it 
now.  No,  I  will  not  like  a  craven  sneak  away  from  the 
battle-field  of  life,  into  such  a  romantic  den  of  tame  and 
impassive  excellence,  but  struggling  for  new  vigor,  I  will 
die  with  harness  on,  and  court  the  opposition  of  mankind. 
Andrews,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Go  among  the  heathen  and  carry  to  them  the  religion 
of  Christ ! "  replied  Andrews,  as  his  eye  gleamed  with 
emotion. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  at  length,  my  mission  has  been 
named  ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  McAlpin.  "  A  thousand  thanks 
for  opening  the  way  to  me,  of  usefulness  and  joy,"  and  as 
she  uttered  these  worde  she  grasped  convulsively  his  hand 
and  pressed  it  closely  to  her  bosom.  "  My  sister  and  my- 
self will  to  this  work  at  once,  and  those  who  have  here- 
tofore known  us  only  as  *  flippant  fools,'  shall  hereafter 
honor  us  as  the  heroines  of  truth  —  as  earnest,  contrite 
faithful  women,  and  followers  of  that  cross  which  inspirited 
the  apostles  to  superhuman  labors,  and  an  Ignatius  Loy- 
ola, to  achieve  a  name  in  history,  that  is  among  the  most 
wonderful  in  activity  of  genius." 

"  In  whatever  way  I  may  promote  the  object  of  your 
life  —  this  noble  charity  !  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to 
serve,"  rejoined  our  hero.  "  May  God  bless  your  labors. 
To  all  who  have  not  the  knowledge  of  the  Gospel,  no 
more  lovely  and  necessary  toil  can  be  endured  than  carry- 
ing it  to  them ;  for  the  degradations  of  superstitions  are 
fearful  to  behold." 

"  To  this  cause  shall  our  lives  exclusively  be  devoted," 
returned  Mrs.  McAlpin  —  her  eyes  sparkling  with  hope. 
"  The  future  lies  before  me  as  an  extensive  field,  richly 
packed  with  its  waving  golden  grain,  all  ready  for  the 
reapers  —  and  soon  we  shall  have  our  places;  and  if  in 
parting  with  you,  my  noble  friend,  we  never  meet  again, 
even  as  you  were  first  in  my  early  love,  so  shall  you  be 
last  among  the  memories  of  my  dying  hour." 

A  tear  filled  the  eyes  both  of  Nelly  and  Mr.  Andrews, 
who,  moved  by  the  singularly  marked  change  in  her  char- 
acter, drew  her  by  the  hand  to  his  side,  and  kissed  her 
pallid  brow. 

"  Thus,"  said  he  do  I  affix  the  seal  of  love  to  our  re- 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  281 

newed  bond  of  friendship  and  confidence ;  and  so  long  as 
I  shall  live,  in  whatever  quarter  of  the  world  you  are, 
know  that  I  shall  ever  bear  within  this  beating  bosom 
a  brother's  interest  in  your  welfare,  and  shall  ever  be  ready 
to  perform  a  brother's  obligations." 

Nelly  was  so  much  agitated  by  the  happiness  of  this 
hour,  that  she  could  not  speak,  but  grasping  the  hand  of 
our  hero,  she  placed  it  to  her  quivering  lips,  and  as  the 
tears  ran  freely  from  her  eyes,  she  covered  it  with  kisses. 
Recovering  somewhat  from  her  excitement,  she  raised  her 
deep,  blue,  penetrating,  large,  serious  eyes,  to  the  placid, 
handsome,  spiritually  severe,  countenance  of  our  hero,  and 
said,  — 

"  No  one  but  God  can  know  the  hope  and  joy  that's 
here,"  and  as  she  spoke,  she  placed  her  small  and  graceful 
hand  upon  her  bosom.  "  The  prospect  which  I  now  have, 
so  new  to  me,  of  redeeming  years  of  folly,  by  serving 
justice,  humanity,  and  love,  fills  me  with  rapture,  which 
makes  musical  my  soul.  It  seems  as  though  I  could  fly 
on  the  wings  of  that  ecstasy  that  regulates  and  ennobles 
my  thoughts,  and  guides  my  understanding." 

At  this  moment  a  burly,  red-faced  man,  about  forty  years 
of  age,  cautiously  entered  the  office,  and  respectfully  bow- 
ing to  Mr.  Andrews,  seated  himself  on  a  chair  by  the 
window,  with  his  keen  gray  eyes  riveted  on  the  slender, 
graceful  form  of  Mrs.  McAlpin,  who  at  once  moved  to- 
wards the  door  followed  by  our  hero :  —  as  he  parted 
with  her  in  the  entry,  he  said,  — 

"  Swerve  not  from  thy  purpose ;  forgive  thy  mother, 
and  peace  will  be  forever  the  anchor  of  thy  soul ! " 

Goodness  was  the  mainspring  of  all  the  lawyer's  actions 
—  and  he  was,  perhaps,  as  much  admired  for  his  consci- 
entiousness as  for  his  wit.  Retaking  his  position  by  the 
table,  he  turned  to  the  person  by  the  window,  and  fixing 
his  eye  pointedly  on  him,  said  pleasantly,  — 

"  Can  I  serve  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  can,"  responded  the  keen,  gray- 
eyed  man.  "  I've  got  into  hot  water,  — " 

"  You  want  some  one  to  pull  you  out,  of  course,"  in- 
terrupted the  lawyer. 

"  Well,  I  do,  right  bad,"  rejoined  the  visitor.     "  I  want 


282  THE    PENNIMANS;    OR, 

to  be  carried  clean  through  this  scrape  as  though  nothing 
had  happened.  I  can  pay  for  this  privilege,  and  I've  been 
told,  you  are  just  the  man  to  serve  me." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  mustjirst  know  something  about  the  facts 
or  circumstances  of  your  case,  before  I  can  hint  even  an 
opinion,"  rejoined  Andrews,  in  measured  speech,  and  with 
a  serious  air.  "  You  speak  of  a  scrape  —  now,  sir,  this  is 
not  exactly  my  line  of  practice  —  to  get  men  out  of  scrapes, 
unless  the  evidence  they  may  furnish  of  their  innocence, 
is  conclusive  !  and  free  from  all  suspicion  of  being  manu- 
factured for  the  case.  I  will  not  lend  my  mind  or  my 
voice  to  any  such  proceedings.  I  am  a  minister  of  Justice 
—  a  sworn  officer  of  our  courts.  I  am  ready  to  serve  you, 
if  you  are  innocent  of  any  and  all  crime,  and  can  arm  me 
with  witnesses  and  testimony  to  prove  the  fact,  but  I  will 
not  undertake  to  wrest  you  from  the  penalty  of  the  law, 
if  you  have  wittingly  incurred  it." 

The  burly  red-haired  man  scratched  his  head,  and  look- 
ing at  the  lawyer  with  amazement,  exclaimed,  — 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  don't  want  to  run  through  anything 
which  is  unusual.  I  have  some  evidence,  which,  properly 
managed,  will  do  me  good  service,  and  I  am  willing  to 
pay,  and  that  too,  devilish  well,  any  man  who  will  treat 
my  case  in  a  lawyer-like  manner.  I  don't  say  that  I  have 
not  wittingly  run  against  the  law,  but  I  do  say  that  I  have 
offended  in  no  manner  more  criminal  than  hundreds  and 
hundreds  do  daily,  who  are  passed  harmlessly  through  the 
courts  !  " 

"  Let  me  be  the  judge  of  that,  sir,  at  least,  if  you 
please,"  returned  Andrews,  sharply.  "  I  am  quite  con- 
versant with  the  business  of  the  courts,  and  I  cannot  con- 
sent to  accept  of  such  a  statement  as  true  until  I  know' 
the  fact.  State  your  case,  and  then  I  shall  be  able  to 
form  some  view  of  it,  —  some  opinion." 

*'  It's  no  use,  sir,  I  see  you  are  no  criminal  lawyer,"  re- 
turned the  man  near  the  window.  "  You_  have  no  nerve 
for  such  evidence  as  I  shall  have  to  offer.  Why,  sir,  if 
all  the  bar  should  accept  of  none  but  the  best  business, 
to  which  you  appear  to  aspire  —  they'd  soon  be  in  '  tight 
places,'  and  would  be  employing  each  other  to  work  up  a 
fiction  for  them,  a  damn  sight  more  atrocious  than  any  I 


THE    TBITTMPH    OF    GENIUS.  283 

should  require  of  you.  You've  got  a  reputation,  haven't 
you,  for  honesty,  and  you  want  to  keep  it  —  don't  you  ?  — 
Good  boy  —  you  can  go  up  in  your  class,  for  nobody  wants 
the  place." 

As  the  burly  man  said  this,  he  -was  standing  by  the 
entry  door,  with  the  deep  flashing  eye  of  the  acute,  and 
conscientious  lawyer  full  upon  him  —  he  felt  and  feared 
its  power ! 

"  D — n  the  law  ! "  he  muttered,  as  he  now  passed  from 
the  office,  with  a  scowl  upon  his  face,  and  fearful  passion 
in  his  eye  and  lips. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  remarked  Andrews,  as  his  visitor  left 
his  presence.  "  Poor  fellow  !  I  feel  for  him.  I  know  he 
has  a  hard  case,  or  he  would  not  treat  me  in  this  manner. 
But  I  cannot,  will  not,  engage  to  defend  those,  who  have 
not  such  evidence  as  I  can  conscientiously  present  to  a 
court  and  jury.  I  will  not  knowingly  cheat  the  law  of  its 
just  demands.  If  men,  get  into  scrapes  by  criminal  acts 
—  /  shall  never  interpose  to  shield  them  from  the  conse- 
quences of  their  own  deliberate  determinations  —  they 
must  be  punished  —  the  law  must  be  a  verity  —  it  is  my 
mission  to  see  that  it  is ;  and  by  the  Olympean  Jupiter  ! 
I  will  not  be  recreant  to  my  duty  —  which  first  to 
God  I  owe,  and  next  to  man !  There  is  no  happi- 
ness in  labor  which  demoralizes  alike  those  who  perform 
it,  and  those  who  are  recipients  of  its  benefits.  The 
indiscriminate  defence  of  right  and  wrong  is  doing  vio- 
lence to  nature  !  and  she  will  not  be  outraged  persist- 
ently, without  terrible  judgments  upon  those  who  dare 
this  ceaseless  abuse.  There  is  a  right,  there  is  a  wrong 
to  every  question!  and  however  confused  these  grand 
departments  of  thought  may  be  by  authorities  —  they 
are  ever  well  defined,  and  are  ever  earnest  in  their  ope- 
rations in  the  hearts  of  all  mankind  —  who  believe  in  a 
God,  in  virtue,  and  a  happy  hereafter. 

"  Years,  ah,  sad  and  laborious  years !  have  I  devotedly 
studied  the  wisdom  of  men  in  the  various  walks  of  medi- 
tation, which  have  for  so  many  ages  been  open  to  the 
studious  and  profound.  But  in  them  all  I  find  no  thought 
so  beautiful  as  conscience !  and  no  study  so  sublime ! 
and  this  I  know,  that  it,  and  it  alone,  can  perfect  laws,  and 


284  THE   PENNIMANS  J    OB, 

merge  this  life  in  that  of  Heaven  !  Learning,  however  pleas- 
ant to  man's  pride,  is,  when  accumulated  in  too  vast  a 
store,  unfriendly  to  his  happiness  and  the  full  operation  of 
that  delicate  sense  of  justice  which  is  so  curtly  and  yet  so 
acceptably  expressed  as  the  corner-stone  of  Christian  ethics 
— '  Do  unto  others  as  you  would  be  done  by  ! '  Upon 
this  simple,  though  God-given  principle,  properly  are  based, 
the  stupendous  fabric  of  that  thought,  which  governs, 
through  human  tribunals,  the  intercourse  of  mankind. 
Perish,  O  perish,  those  base  natures,  who,  from  such  a 
pure  and  sparkling  spring  of  right,  would  artificially  con- 
struct those  dark  and  damning  streams  of  injustice  and 
wrong !  whose  bitter  waters  no  inhabitant  of  earth  is  not 
sooner  or  later  in  the  course  of  life's  toilsome  pilgrimage, 
compelled  to  taste. 

"  Law  is  not  necessarily  a  bottomless  pit  —  a  dark  and 
insoluble  problem  ;  but  only  as  it  is  made  so  by  the  vanity 
and  infamous  caprice  of  man  !  The  sun  shines  ever  the 
same  —  its  genial  warmth,  its  friendly  rays,  will  uplift  the 
heart  depressed  by  care  and  sorrow,  from  its  dark  depths  of 
seriousness  and  despair  ;  so  might  law  diffuse  universal 
hope  and  joy,  would  men  who  engage  in  its  practice 
recognize  some  system  of  mental  philosophy  as  just  and 
true  !  until  which  happy  time  neither  laws,  nor  morals,  nor 
natural  religion  can  rest  upon  a  scientific  foundation  !  and 
give  thereby  to  education,  political  economy,  and  legis- 
lation, both  stability  and  precision!  No  one  who  has 
peered  into  the  lower  stratas  of  human  thought,  and  so 
upward  made  his  way,  has  failed  to  be  impressed  with  the 
uncertainty  of  all  knowledge,  and  the  profound  mystery 
which  hangs  over  the  essences  of  things  —  from  whence 
proceeds  the  fearful  confusion  of  which  injustice  is  born  ! 
In  the  vast  objects  of  nature,  we  may  perceive  most  won- 
derful phenomena,  and  the  relations  subsisting  between 
them,  but  as  a  matter  of  direct  perception,  here,  alas  !  our 
vision  ends. 

"  And  in  the  moral  world,  when  we  ignore  the  life  and 
ethics  of  Jesus,  we  see  nothing  but  contradictions,  weak- 
ness, and  woe  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  door  again  opened,  and  a  man  with 
a  sallow,  dark,  and  intelligent  countenance,  said  hurri- 
edly, — 


THE    TBIT7MPH    OF    GENITTS.  285 

"  The  court  is  waiting  for  you,  sir ;  they  are  ready  for 
your  argument." 

Andrews,  taking  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  putting  a  file 
of  papers  in  his  coat  pocket,  walked,  unaffected  by  the 
haste  of  his  junior,  from  his  office  to  the  court-house, 
where  he  made  one  of  the  most  brilliant  arguments  in  a 
case  that  had  long  been  on  trial,  where  a  mother  had  sued 
for  the  custody  of  an  only  child.  His  eloquence  was 
irresistible,  and  there  was  not  a  tearless  eye  in  that  room, 
crowded  with  an  interested  and  excited  audience,  as  he 
sketched  a  mother's  love  for,  and  hopes  in,  that  which  had 
been  nurtured  into  life  by  her  blood,  and  had  lain  in  her 
bosom.  Here,  surrounded  by  the  ablest  jurists  in  the 
State,  and  in  the  full  expression  of  his  genius,  which  all  ac- 
knowledged and  respected,  we  leave  our  hero  for  the  study 
of  those  who  have  no  friends  to  lift  them  to  honors, 
but  their  own  virtues  and  unconquerable  will.  Do  as  he 
has  done,  and  proudly,  though  respectfully,  wear  the 
wreath  of  Fame. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

"  Two  minds  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one  !  " 

THUS  far  in  his  career  William  Andrews  had  nad  but 
one  bosom  friend  among  his  fellow  men  —  and  he  was 
Hamilton,  whom  the  Pennimans  so  much  despised  for  the 
part  which  he  had  played  at  the  famous  wedding.  But 
Andrews  loved  him  —  and  of  this  assured,  Hamilton 
cared  not  who  disliked  his  character.  Lucy  Atlay  had 
always  been  a  friend  of  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  our 
hero,  and  as  his  engagement  and  marriage  to  Agnes  had 
fixed  his  matrimonial  state  for  years,  perhaps,  to  come,  he 
was  anxious  that  so  noble  a  heart  and  accomplished  an  in- 
tellect as  Lucy's  should  be  united  to  a  man  capable  of  ap- 
preciating them,  and  altogether  worthy  of  her  confidence. 
To  Hamilton,  therefore,  he  assigned  the  happiness  of  her 
love,  and  that  he  might  succeed  in  winning  it,  our  hero 
used  all  the  powers  of  his  rhetoric  to  inspire  her  with  a 
trust  in,  and  preference  for,  his  friend  —  nor  did  he  en- 
deavor in  vain,  as  she  had  some  time  since  engaged  herself 
to  Hamilton,  with  the  consent  of  her  parents,  who  now 
loved  and  honored  him  as  much  as  they  had  once  feared 
and  suspected  him.  He  had  studied  medicine  and  sur- 
gery under  the  fascinating  spell  of  Lucy's  affection  and 
care,  and  had  succeeded  in  establishing  himself  in  a  lu- 
crative practice  in  one  of  the  neighboring  towns.  He 
was  soon  to  marry  her,  and  they  were  to  live  here  in  a 
beautiful  house,  not  large,  but  elegant  in  all  its  arrange- 
ments, presented  to  them  by  the  lady's  father. 

Agnes  and  Lucy  were  the  best  of  friends,  and  equalled  in 
their  admiration  for  and  attachment  to  each  other,  the  loves 
and  fidelity  of  Hamilton  and  Andrews.  Lucy  would  freely 
express  those  preferences  which  she  had  entertained  for 
Andrews,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  Agnes,  "  she  thought 


THE    TEIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  287 

she  had  the  most  perfect  man  for  a  husband  in  the  wide, 
wide  world;  "  and  she  would  add,  "  if  I  were  not  a  Chris- 
tian, I  should  give  you  no  peace,  from  my  envy  and  jeal- 
ousy of  your  great  good  fortune." 

Agnes  would  laugh  heartily  at  her  friend,  and  say  in  a 
sprightly  manner,  — 

"  If  you  had  only  my  charms,  my  eyes,  my  every- 
thing, you  might  have  been  in  my  shoes,  but  do  you 
think  you  would  have  worn  them  without  pain.  Ah, 
no,  no,  love ;  to  be  the  confident  and  companion  (as 
has  been  decreed  to  me)  of  such  a  nature  as  is  my 
husband's,  is  no  unbroken  joy,  for  there  are  times  when 
one's  suspicions  of  their  incompetency,  comes  rolling  in 
fearful  surges  on  the  soul,  and  a  sense  of  weariness  op- 
presses. The  intimacy  of  love  —  of  "  two  hearts  which 
beat  as  one  "  — has  indeed  its  perils,  and  she  who  mates 
with  genius,  trembles  ofttimes  in  the  vivid  reality  of  what 
perchance  may  come, — how  she  shall  bear  herself  from 
day  to  day  —  so  mingle  with  his  mind,  and  blunt  the 
sharpness  of  his  cares,  as  yet  to  please,  and  never  to  dis- 
tract, annoy.  To  do  this  —  and  do  it  well  —  is  no  slight 
duty  ;  and  were  it  not  that  I  so  much  admire  and  truly 
love  /our  sympathetic  nature,  I  might  in  punishment  of 
your  envious  state,  consign  you  for  a  twelvemonth  to  my 
station  ;  and,  though  o'ermuch  your  love  for  him  whose 
talents  could  place  you  here,  your  heart  at  times  would 
feel  unrest,  impatient  of  its  burthen  —  for  love,  say  what 
you  will,  is  burthensome,  and  where  most  we  women  feel 
our  loves  to  be,  therefrom  we  draw  much  pain.  Ah,  this 
is  life,  and  this  it  is  we  seek  so  ardently."  Thus  would 
these  beauties  talk,  for  they  were  beauties,  not  formed  by 
art,  but  moulded  by  the  hand  of  nature  ! 

The  Pennimans,  the  Blowhards  and  the  Yellowbodies, 
and  many  others,  who,  "  for  various  reasons,  disliked  the 
Atlays,"  were  unceasing  in  their  ill-natured  remarks  upon 
her  engagement,  to  so  handsome  and  promising  a  young 
man  as  Hamilton,  whose  family  was  one  of  the  most  fav- 
orably known  in  the  country  for  genius  and  renown  ! 
The  Catchpennys  had  been  unsparing  of  abuse  ;  but  since 
the  favors,  which  had  been  so  liberally  bestowed  upon  them 
by  our  hero,  they  had  repented  of  their  misdoings  and  mis- 


288  THE    PENNIMANS  ;     OB, 

sayings,  and  had  lavished  upon  the  Atlays,  as  the  esteemed 
friends  of  Mr.  Andrews,  every  conceivable  praise  ;  and  that 
they  might  appear  the  more  deeply  to  regret  having  spoken 
at  any  time  unkindly  of  this  family,  they  sent  them  a  note 
expressive  of  their  humiliation  at  having  given  way  to 
mean  passions,  and  for  having  under  their  dictation  used 
most  unfair  and  shameful  language,  as  respects  their  char- 
acters and  position.  This  was  quite  satisfactory  to  the 
Atlays,  who  willingly  bore  no  ill-will  towards  any  of  the 
great  brotJierhood  of  man.  They  even  assured  the  Catch- 
pennys  of  their  sincere  sorrow,  that  there  should  have 
been  at  any  time  a  variance,  or  an  unkind  feeling  between 
them ;  and  that  in  future  they  should  esteem  them  as 
worthy  friends. 

Now,  that  it  was  generally  known  that  "  some  noble 
spirit "  had  placed  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Catchpenny  the 
means  of  reestablishing  himself  in  business,  the  Atlays 
seized  at  once  upon  the  occasion  to  express  their  deep 
sense  of  pleasure  at  their  charming  fortune,  and  sincerely 
hoped  that  they  would  not  be  again  put  to  the  inconven- 
iences of  poverty !  Who  this  noble  spirit  was,  nobody 
appeared  to  know,  since  Andrews  had  exacted  from  the 
Catchpennys  the  solemn  promise  never  to  mention  his  name 
in  connection  with  their  renewed  prosperity  —  and  faith- 
ful to  their  pledge  of  secrecy,  they  kept  all  to  themselves. 

Lucy  Atlay  in  a  few  days  was  to  be  married,  and  she 
was  busily  engaged  in  getting  ready  for  that  solemn  and 
fascinating  undertaking ;  for  marriage  is  an  undertaking, 
say  what  those  who  make  light  of  it,  may.  It  is  a  tie,  a 
gordian  knot,  which  is  most  difficult  to  be  cut  —  its  be- 
ginning, though  easily  found,  (and  in  this,  unlike  that 
of  Gordius,)  yet  its  ending  is  not  so  easy  to  be  known. 
Still,  it  has  its  charms,  and  there  will  ever  be  those,  who, 
for  the  sake  of  enjoying  the  sweet  bondage  of  matrimony, 
will  court  its  golden  chains.  We  say,  God  speed  them  ! 
—  they  take  a  risk,  but  it  is  a  lawful  risk,  it  is  an  exciting 
risk,  a  daring  risk  if  you  will,  and  surely  if  disaster  come 
therefrom,  who  are  more  worthy  of  martyrdom  than  those 
inviting  peril.  We  believe  in  marriage  —  we  heartily  re- 
commend it  to  all  those  who  have  the  nerve  for  it  —  who 
have  the  taste  for  it  —  the  sense,  the  skill,  the  adaptation, 


THE    TBIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  289 

the  patience,  and  that  host  of  other  requisites  so  indispen- 
sable in  the  safe  conduct  of  such  a  life-long  partnership 
—  such  an  engrossing  fact !  It  is  an  institution  founded 
upon  the  noblest  confidence  of  the  human  breast ;  it  is  a 
theory  of  surpassing  beauty  and  captivating  romance  ; 
nor  would  it  ever  fail  of  the  benevolent  ends  which  called 
it  into  being,  if  only  those  should  come  within  its  charge, 
whom  God  and  nature  (not  a  sordid,  brutal,  worldly 
policy)  had  prompted  to  combine.  Ah,  here  is  a  truth 
more  precious  than  all  truth  save  that  of  Revelation,  yet 
'tis  hissed  and  scorned  and  throttled  by  even  those  who 
seek  most  earnestly,  and  pay  most  liberally  for  the  gem  of 
happiness. 

And  who  will  say  that  man  is  not  at  least  in  this  a  fool, 
when  he  wilfully  builds  with  falsehood,  though  truth  lies 
ready  at  his  hand !  The  brute  led  by  instinct  only,  makes 
no  vice  of  love,  while  men  endowed  with  apprehension 
so  like  a  God !  confound  it  with  things  unreal ;  and  of 
that  sentiment  so  holy,  and  so  freighted  with  the  destinies 
of  life,  make  endless  wretchedness,  irreligion,  wrong. 
When  love  on  earth  shall  do  its  office,  uncontrolled  by 
avarice,  pride,  hypocrisy,  and  cunning,  then  will  marriage 
be  a  covenant  of  peace,  improvement,  real  and  lasting 
pleasure  !  and  then  will  children  honor  and  obey,  and  then 
will  Justice  rise  from  out  the  filth  of  policy,  and  purified, 
regain  its  throne.  Haste,  oh  haste,  ye  coming  days  — 
and  remove  this  foul  social  leprosy  —  whose  hateful  spots 
so  painfully  disfigure  virtue  and  truth,  even  in  the  womb  ! 

As  we  have  intimated,  Lucy  Atlay  was  preparing  for 
the  trials  and  the  joys  of  married  life.  She  loved  and 
was  beloved  ;  she  felt,  with  Hamilton,  she  should  be  more 
happy  than  alone.  And  now  as  she  walks  by  his  side, 
(her  arm  in  his,  her  head  slightly  bent  towards  his  shoul- 
der) up  the  broad  aisle  of  the  church,  at  whose  baptismal 
font  she  was  christened,  and  at  whose  altar  she  had  been 
confirmed,  and  had  first  partaken  of  that  bread  of  life, 
which  is  so  beautifully  typified  in  the  commemoration  of 
the  Lord's  Supper,  she  seemed  conscious  of  no  fear,  and 
apprehensive  of  no  sorrow. 

Within  her  light  brown  hair  was  placed  a  rose,  as  white 

as  the  gorgeous  vail  which  dropped  from  the  back  of  her 
13 


290  THE    PENNIMANS  J    OR, 

head  over  her  shoulders,  mingling  with  the  folds  of  a 
white  laced  dress,  beneath  which  was  a  costly  satin.  Upon 
her  bosom,  that  heaved  with  the  hopes  and  delights  of  her 
mind  was  spread  the  most  delicate  silk  gauze.  Her  eye 
was  clear  and  brilliant  and  musical  with  power,  which,  as 
she  passed  along  through  the  church,  crowded  with  the 
most  reputable  of  citizens,  was  modestly  cast  downward 
to  avoid  the  general  gaze.  Many  were  the  expressions  of 
admiration,  and  many  the  envious  jest  that  escaped  the 
lips  of  those  persons  whose  vision  was  dazzled  by  a  sight 
so  artistic  and  yet  at  all  points  so  true  to  nature.  The 
marriage  consummated,  the  clergyman  shook  cordially  by 
the  hand  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom,  and  after  a  few 
words  of  friendly  greeting,  withdrew  from  the  altar,  while 
Hamilton  and  Lucy  repast  the  aisle,  and  disappeared  from 
the  gaze  of  the  crowd  which  had  assembled  to  witness  the 
ceremony.  There  were  many  of  that  number  who  gladly, 
if  they  could,  would  put  "  asunder  what  God  had  joined 
together ;  "  and  whilst  they  could  not  suppress  their  belief 
that  "  a  finer  looking  couple  had  never  been  united  at  that 
altar,"  they  would  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  dashing 
from  their  lips  the  cup  of  happiness  which  this  day's  act 
had  placed  there,"  attended  with  none  of  the  exclusiveness 
of  McAlpin's  wedding,  nor  none  of  its  mortification ;  no 
lamp-black  hand  was  there,  no  tongue,  ominously  to  whis- 
per "  damnation  to  come."  Both  Hamilton  and  Lucy 
thought,  if  Christ  could  go  among  the  money-changers  of 
the  temple,  and  into  the  high- ways  and  by-ways  —  they 
need  have  no  dread  of  the  strong  breath  of  the  multitude 
—  but  should  meet  them  face  to  face  at  the  altar  of  the 
Father  and  God  of  all. 

They  recognized  no  especial  virtue  in  rank  as  rank,  but 
believed  the  noble  impulse  and  the  heaven  aspiring  spirit 
dwelt  indiscriminately  in  all.  They  would  not  carry  into 
the  house  of  God  that  disgusting  foppery  which  thanks 
Him  "  it  is  not  as  other  men,"  and  affects  displeasure 
at  the  near  proximity  of  ignorance  and  physical  toil  — 
they  would  not,  because  it  was  in  their  power,  taboo  that 
sacred  temple  to  which  all  are  invited  to  come,  and  which 
in  apostolic  times  was  the  fountain  head  of  confidence, 
magnanimity  and  love  !  The  families  of  Hamilton  and 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GEXIUS.  291 

Andrews  continued  in  the  closest  intimacy,  and  rarely  a 
day  passed  without  the  meeting  of  Agnes  and  Lucy.  The 
utmost  trust  —  and  the  fairest  courtesy  characterized  all 
their  intercourse  -r-  they  were  true  to  their  professions, 
and  their  friendship  consequently  endured. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  Father,  1  have  done  thy  will." 

OUR  hero,  William  Andrews,  had  been  true  to  him- 
self, and  he  had  triumphed  in  his  purposes.  The  position 
which  he  now  held  in  the  estimation  of  the  community, 
was  far  above  that  of  the  Pennimans  at  the  height  of  their 
prosperity  and  pride,  which  was  at  the  date  of  their  al- 
liance with  the  McAlpins.  That  connection  had  been  for 
some  time  broken  —  and  there  was  now  no  intercourse 
between  the  families.  The  last  that  was  heard  of  Nelly's 
husband,  were  merely  vague  reports  of  his  having  taken 
up  his  abode  with  the  Indians  of  the  "West,  assuming 
their  habits  and  costume ;  his  wife  and  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Donothing,  had  embarked  for  the  Sandwich  Islands  on 
their  mission  to  the  heathen,  and  from  thence  intended  to 
pass  to  China  and  India.  Mr.  Donothing,  broken  down 
by  dissipation,  had  become  enfeebled  in  mind,  and  was 
placed  in  the  charge  of  an  Insane  Asylum. 

Mrs.  Penniman,  disgusted  with  society,  was  living  with 
Gaseous  in  a  near  neighboring  village,  whom  she  had  as  a 
boarder.  Persons  generally  laughed  at  the  idea,  and 
whispered  strange  things  about  this  connection  —  they 
said  it  was  scandalous  —  and  what  they  did  not  say,  de- 
rogatory to  the  character  of  Mrs.  Penniman,  whom  nobody 
respected,  or  appeared  to  respect,  since  her  downfall,  was 
of  no  value  on  the  score  of  detraction,  She  was  of  all 
women,  most  heartily  despised.  Her  husband  lived  the 
life  of  a  hermit,  never  having  noticed  her  since  he  discov- 
ered her  in  the  embrace  of  Gaseous.  Recently  he  had 
taken  to  strange  humors,  and  so  peculiar  was  his  manner 
at  times,  that  persons  competent  to  judge,  thought  him 
partially  demented. 

One  dark  and  stormy  night,  when  the  rain  poured  in 
torrents  from  the  low  hanging  clouds,  and  the  wind  blew 


THE    TBITJMPH    OF    GENIUS.  293 

fearfully,  old  Penniman  wandered  away  from  his  room, 
and  passing  along  the  wharves,  slipped  into  the  water  and 
was  drowned.  So  terminated  the  miserable  life  of  a  piti- 
ful wretch,  who  once  rode  in  his  carriage  and  damned  his 
cook  for  eating  dainties  —  who  sneered  at  genius  because 
it  was  poor,  and  gave  his  daughter  to  "  a  young  man  of 
the  first  respectability,"  who  left  her  for  the  habits  and 
manners  of  savages,  —  who  can  weep  for  him  — who  does 
not  tremble  at  the  thought  of  his  hereafter.  Artemas 
Bottlefly,  and  Edward  Roundhead,  who,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, married  into  the  Penniman  family,  were  such  "  nice 
fellows,"  that  they  w,ere  completely  hen-pecked,  and  hav- 
ing little  or  no  capacity  for  business,  they  occupied  their 
time  with  the  fine  arts,  and  in  the  duties  of  the  nursery. 
Since  the  failure  of  old  Penniman,  they  had  moved  into 
the  country,  where  they  lived  together  in  a  small  house, 
and  provided  themselves  with  the  necessaries  of  life 
through  a  small  income,  which  Bottlefly  derived  from  an 
estate  in  fee  left  him  by  his  mother,  his  father  having  been 
a  gay  man,  who  ran  through  a  large  fortune.  The  Incon- 
ceivables,  the  Blowhards,  and  the  Touchmenots,  still  con- 
tinued in  fashionable  life,  passing  their  cutting  remarks  on 
all  those  with  whom  they  happened  not  to  agree.  Mrs. 
Inconceivable  had  become  reconciled  to  her  husband.  Of 
Mrs.  Penniman  they  said  much  that  was  excessively 
severe,  and  Gaseous  they  treated  as  "  a  dangerous  man." 
The  life  to  which  Nelly  and  her  sister,  Mrs.  Donnthing, 
had  devoted  themselves,  they  declared  only  fit  for  broken 
down  respectability,  and  thought  a  residence  among  the 
heathen  just  the  place  for  them.  "  Bone,"  was  still  the 
pet  of  Agnes,  who  had  taught  him  to  be  very  useful  in 
various  ways  —  and  she  rarely  rode  into  the  country  with- 
out taking  him  along  with  her. 

Mrs.  Andrews  continued  in  excellent  health  and  spirits, 
and  was  "  as  happy  as  happy  could  be,"  under  the  roof 
and  in  the  love  of  her  children ;  and  of  her  grand- son, 
Arthur  Hamilton  Andrews,  a  handsome  sprightly  boy  of 
promise,  she  was  most  proud.  He  was  the  image  of  his 
father,  —  a  high  spirited,  obedient,  affectionate  child.  Ag- 
nes cherished  his  virtues  with  all  the  fondness  such  an 
ardent  soul  as  hers  was  capable  of;  and  she  looked  for- 


294  THE    PENNIMANS ;    OR, 

ward  confidently  to  the  period  when  he  would  take   his 
position  among  men,  and  speedily  make  his  mark. 

With  patience,  perseverance,  self-reliance,  and  courage, 
Agnes  and  Andrews  had  lived  down  their  enemies,  and 
had  made  them  their  warmest  friends.  All  who  had  once 
abused  them,  delighted  now  to  honor,  except  the  Touch- 
menots,  who  "  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  the  Parve- 
nues."  Mr.  Catchpenny  had  profited  hy  his  experience, 
and  in  the  good  Providence  of  God,  had  succeeded  in 
establishing  a  very  paying  business  in  St.  Louis,  where 
his  daughters  had  married,  and  were  mothers  of  several 
little  Catchpennys,  who  were  "  spoiled  and  petted  to 
death."  They  entertained  a  "  supreme  contempt  for  every 
thing  Bostonfied,"  —  and  "  loved  nothing  with  any  Yan- 
kee to  it,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Andrews,  and  that  belonging 
to  them." 

Irene  Caruthers,  who  had  been  reclaimed  by  Agnes, 
was  now  the  mother  of  two  fine  boys,  and  the  wife  of  a 
man  highly  honored  in  the  business  circles  of  Philadel- 
phia, she  had  never  ceased  her  efforts  in  behalf  of  pros- 
titution, and  through  her  acts  many  a  noble-hearted,  mis- 
directed woman,  had  been  rescued  from  that  degree  in 
vice,  from  whence  so  few  are  reclaimed.  She  frequently 
wrote  Agnes  ;  who  had  made  her  several  visits,  and  who 
was  truly  loved  by  her,  in  whose  behalf  she  had  labored 
so  faithfully.  Even  as  Agnes  received  from  year  to  year 
many  a  reclaimed  harlot's  blessing,  so  they  would  bless 
Irene,  and  putting  their  arms  about  her  neck,  kiss  her 
affectionately,  thanking  God,  that  in  some  women  he  had 
planted  souls,  to  taste  of  whose  fruits  is  to  hope,  to 
smile,  to  live  again  ! 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sampsone  still  continued  in  Europe,  and 
the  genius  she  expected  to  furnish  the  world  proved  but  a 
sorry  specimen  of  humanity  —  having  but  two  fingers  on 
each  hand,  a  hair-lip,  a  cross-eye,  and  a  scrofulous  humor, 
apparent  throughout  his  body.  Hamilton  and  his  wife 
continued  most  happy  in  their  love  —  and  were  ever  true 
to  Andrews.  And  so  the  world  Wigged,  in  the  times  of 
these  personages  and  events. 

As  Andrews  surveyed  the  past,  and  saw  how,  step  by 
step,  he  had  ascended  the  steep  of  fame,  where  the  highest 


THE    TRIUMPH    OF    GENIUS.  295 

honors  to  which  an  American  citizen  can  aspire,  had  been 
tendered  him,  he  would  often  recur  to  the  memory  of  his 
beloved  father,  and  to  his  noble  charge,  when  he  sought 
his  counsel,  at  a  time  when  his  youthful  haughty 
spirit  had  been  bruised  by  the  rough  treatment  of  the 
Pennimans,  on  whom  he  had  determined  to  be  avenged. 
"  Let  your  life,  my  noble  boy,"  said  he,  "  your  goodness 
and  virtue,  be  your  revenge  !  Go  on  with  a  thorough  intel- 
lectual training,  aspire  to  become  a  man  of  influence,  and 
when  you  have  won  for  yourself  a  position,  let  the  world 
see,  and  the  Pennimans  in  particular,  that  the  insult  offered 
to  your  youth,  has  been  wiped  away  by  the  glory  of  your 
manhood  !  Make  them  to  feel  you  were  never  their  in- 
ferior, and  that  the  name  of  Andrews,  as  borne  by  you, 
hath  a  respect  paid  it,  which  neither  the  name  nor  the 
gold  of  the  whole  race  of  Pennimans  could  confer.  Be 
this  the  object  of  your  life ;  struggle  manfully  to  attain 
it,  and  a  vengeance  is  yours,  more  galling  to  these  proud 
God-defying  people,  than  aught  you  could  possibly  do, 
by  street  attack  or  satire."  v 

He  often  thought  of  these  words  of  his  honored  parent, 
and  great  was  his  satisfaction  to  know,  that  he  had  fully 
realized  his  command.  It  was  the  purpose  of  his  life  to 
achieve  such  honors  as  should  at  once  humilitate  his  ene- 
mies and  vindicate  his  name  from  the  charge  of  mediocri- 
ty. By  day  and  by  night  he  nursed  this  noble  ambition 
—  this  firm,  unconquerable  resolve  :  and  many  a  time 
had  he,  starting  from  his  sleep,  exclaimed,  "  I  have  them 
beneath  my  feet  —  they  —  the  wretches,  who  spurned  me 
as  plebeian  !  They  shall  feel  and  fear  my  power,  they  shall 
know  true  worth  when  trod  upon,  can  will  and  can  dare 
success  —  and  win  a  lasting^ame." 

Here,  was  indeed  a  triumph,  of  marked  merit  over 
imbecility  and  pretension.  Would  that  such  a  triumph 
could  be  recorded  daily,  that  those  who  "  put  on 
airs,"  and  set  themselves  up  as  "  patterns  of  propri- 
ety, models  of  good  taste,"  and  "  gentle  blood,"  (look- 
ing with  scorn  at  all  those  with  whom  they  do  not 
happen  to  associate),  might  have  this  lesson  deeply  im- 
pressed on  their  minds,  viz.,  that  there  are  many  Willie 
Andrews  and  Agnes  Farridays  in  the  world,  who  will 


296  THE    PENNIMANS. 

rise  under  any  and  every  pressure  of  sneering  foppery  ! 
and  that  to  be  honored  in  "modern  Athens,"  is  not  ne- 
cessarily to  be  inhuman,  exclusive,  and  highly  polished 
with  that  impudence  which  delights  in  pushing  its  way 
to  positions,  where  its  follies  are  so  much  the  more  glar- 
ing, and  its  meannesses  are  so  much  the  more  base  ! 

"  Go  little  book,  from  this  my  solitude ! 

I  cast  thee  on  the  waters,  go  thy  ways  ! 
And  if  as  I  believe  thy  vein  be  good, 
The  world  will  find  thee  after  many  days.'* 


FINIS. 


A  STRANGE  STORY. 

BY 

SIR  E.  BULWER  LYTTON,  BART. 

IN  TWO  EDITIONS. 

lllnstrateb  toitl)  4Tonr  Steel  (Engramngs. 

12mo.  396  pp.     Complete  in  one  volume. 

Bound  in  Paper,  Twenty-five  Cents,    Muslin,  One  Dollar. 

The  only  complete  and  unabridged  edition  of  this  fairy  tale  is  published 
this  day  by 

GARDNER   A.  FULLER,  BOSTON. 

This  is  the  best  edition  of  Bulwer  ever  issued  in  this  country.  It  con- 
tains four  vignette  steel  engravings,  by  F.  O.  Freeman,  from  original 
designs.  As  a  proof  of  its  unparalleled  popularity,  8,000  copies  were  sold 
on  the  day  of  its  issue. 

"  The  interest  excited  by  Dickens'  '  Great  Expectations '  has  induced  the  pub- 
lisher to  reproduce  Bulwer's  '  Strange  Story '  in  uniform  style  with  that  work,  both 
in  the  library  and  pamphlet  editions.  This  tale  is  designed  to  illustrate  the  inaccu- 
racy of  conversation  by  which  a  fact  stated  by  one  person  is  made  to  wholly  con- 
tradict the  same  fact  stated  by  another,  so  that  when  a  statement  is  transmitted 
through  several  persons  truth  is  often  changed  to  absolute  falsehood.  The  story  is 
full  of  mystery,  and  is  told  with  the  wonderful  pathos  and  power  which  distin- 
guish Bulwer's  works.  It  is  illustrated  with  four  steel  engravings,  which  are  also 
contained  in  the  cheap  edition."  — Boston  Journal. 

The  trade  are  respectfully  invited  to  examine  this  book,  its  attractive 
style,  and  the  liberal  discount  offered  by  the  publisher. 

GARDNER  A.  FULLER. 


NO  NAME,,  . 

BY   W  ILK  IE    COLLINS. 


Till;  MODERN  AGE, 

Conducted  by  G.  A.  Fuller. 

Ix  this  popular  magazine,  next  week,  will  be  commenced,  to  be  issued 
monthly, 

A  NEW  WORK,  ENTITLED  NO  NAME. 


.  The  genius  of  Mr.  Collins  needs  no  eulogium  to  commend  him  to  the 
American  public.  The  success  of  his  last  work,  "  The  Woman  in  White," 
is  a  sufficient  guarantee  of  his  ability  as  a  writer  who  already  ranks 
among  the  best  of  living  Novelists. 

The  first  chapter  of  No  Name  opens  with  absorbing  interest,  and  must 
excite  universal  attention  among  the  literary  world  not  only  in  England, 
but  in  America,  where  some  of  the  principal  scenes  in  future  chapters  are 
laid. 

It  will  be  continued  from  month  to  month  in  the  Modern  Age  —  revised 
and  corrected  by  the  Author  —  until  completed,  after  which  new  works 
by  the  best  of  authors  will  follow  in  successive  numbers. 

The  pages  of  this  magazine  will  be  got  up  in  elegant  style,  from  a  new 
font  of  Long  Primer  type,  bought  expressly  for  this  Monthly.  Each  num- 
ber will  contain  100  pages,  illustrated  with  a  Steel  Engraving,  and  com- 
prising an  exquisite  volume,  at  the  low  price  of  twenty-Jive  cents,  and  form- 
ing, when  completed,  the  best  combination  for  binding  in  the  country. 
Subscription  price  of 

The  Modern  Age. 

One  copy  one  year,  post  paid, ....    $3.00 

"       "    six  months,    "        "         ...          1.50 

Single  copies,  "       " 25 

For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers. 

GARDNER  A,  FULLER,  Publisher, 


NEW    PUBLICATIONS 


GARDNER     A.     FULLER. 


I. 

The  Pennimans.  (IN  PRESS.) 

A  new  Novel  by  a  new  Author.    Illustrated  with  Steel  Engravings. 

II. 

Levanche.  (I»  PRESS.) 

A  Historical  Poem  and  Tale  of  the  American  Civil  War. 

III. 

Tricks    Of    Trade.     (PREPARING  FOR  PRESS.) 
A  truly  wonderful  book  ;  so  says  the  editor  of  The  Journal,  after  read- 
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BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS,  UNITED  STATES  OF  ASIERICA 

Thursday,  nineteenth  December,  18G1, 
DEAR  SIB, 

I  send  you  to-day,  by  Canard  steamer,  a  copy  of  Great 
Expectations.  Its  unparalleled  popularity  continues  unabated,  al- 
though I  am  now  printing  the  twenty-fifth  thousand. 

Can  I  negotiate  with  you  for  the  exclusive  publication  of  a  new 
work  of  about  the  same  number  of  pages  ? 

If  a  suitable  arrangement  were  made,  I  would  illustrate  the  pro- 
posed book  with  Steel  Engravings. 

Sincerely  yours, 

GARDNER  A.  FULLER 
CHABLES  DICKENS,  ESQ. 


GADS  HILL  PLACE,  HINGHAM  BY  ROCHESTER,  KENT. 

Thursday,  sixteenth  January,  1862. 
DEAB  SIB, 

In  reply  to  your  letter,  I  must  excuse  myself  from  nam- 
ing any  price  for  such  a  work  as  you  propose,  because  I  really  think 
it  would  be  far  too  high  for  your  purpose.  But  if  you  should  be 
disposed  to  make  me  any  offer  of  your  own  originating,  it  shall  re- 
ceive my  prompt  attention  and  reply. 

Faithfully  yours, 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 
GABDNEB  A.  FITLLEB,  ESQ. 


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